


The Wolf of the Withered Heath

by Silverwolfsbane29



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Imprisonment, Mentions of Imprisonment, Past Character Death, Shapeshifter, Slow Burn, Soulmates, Violence, skin changer, very slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-07-24 20:17:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 55,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16182419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silverwolfsbane29/pseuds/Silverwolfsbane29
Summary: Gandalf was mistaken when he thought Beorn was the last of the skin-changers; there is another, a wolf that had remained hidden for years. The company needs to pass through Mirkwood to continue on their journey, but Gandalf is not so sure they can make the journey without some assistance. It's unfortunate that the wolf they hired is just as lost as the company's leader.





	1. Sveilrun

Daylight shined on a house surrounded by a wall of hedges, sitting in the centre of a grassy field. The house within the hedges was made entirely of carved wood, and was surrounded by enough trees to look like a small forest segregated from the field outside. Inside of the large home, which was much larger than an average sized man would require, thirteen dwarves all sat around a large wooden table that was carved similarly as the house. The Hobbit, Bilbo Baggins, laid fast asleep in a pile of hay, surrounded by the various animals belonging to the owner of the house ringed by hedges. A grand, fuzzy bumblebee buzzed near the hobbit’s face, waking him from his slumber with a start. Swatting away the large fuzzy insect, Bilbo quickly got up and sorted himself out, and joined the dwarves who were being served breakfast by an extremely tall man. The man, who went by the name Beorn, was the bear skin-changer who had tried to attack them the night before. Beorn was much larger than most men, even taller than the wizard who sat in a large carved chair in the corner of the room, and had long brown hair. He also had a long beard that stuck out in odd directions and bushy eyebrows that gave him a more animalistic appearance. Beorn poured Fili, one of the dwarves that sat around the table, a cup of milk that looked like a bucket in comparison to the dwarves smaller size.

 

The skin-changer turned his attention to the leader of the dwarves, Thorin, and stated in a low, gravelly voice that was much suited to a bear, “So you are the one they call Oakenshield. Tell me, why is Azog the Defiler hunting you?”    

 

Thorin watched Beorn with a steady gaze and asked, “You know of Azog? How?”

 

“My people were the first to live in the mountains, before the Orcs came down from the north,” Beorn explained with the same rough, yet somber, voice, “The Defiler killed most of my family, but some he enslaved.”

 

Bilbo, along with the large group of dwarves, easily noticed what remained of the manacles that clung to Beorn’s wrist, but don’t speak of it.

 

“Not for work, you understand, but for sport,” Beorn continued his explanations, “Caging skin-changers and torturing them seemed to amuse him.”

 

“There are others like you?” Bilbo asked.

 

Beorn replied lowly, “Once, there were many.”

 

“And now?” Bilbo urged cautiously.

 

Beorn hesitated, taking a seat at the table with the dwarves, he evaluated his answer carefully before speaking, “Now . . . there is only two.”

 

“There’s another of your kind?” Gandalf asked, and leaned forward in his seat, “The last we spoke there was only you.”

 

Beorn shook his head dejectedly, “There is another, a wolf who has taken to solitude. I never spoke of it at the time because of the wolf’s wishes.”

 

“What has changed?” Gandalf inquired.

 

“You need to reach the mountain before the last days of autumn?” Beorn questioned, ignoring the old wizard’s question.

 

“Before Durin’s Day falls, yes.”

 

“You are running out of time,” the skin-changer informed.

 

“Which is why we must go through Mirkwood,” Gandalf clarified somewhat impatiently, “Now, what has changed with the wolf that you tell it’s existence?”

 

“Unlike the bear; the wolf is clever, while the person is lost,” Beorn said in a gruff voice, the slightest bit of humour peeking from his tone, “Like me, the wolf was driven from its home in the mountains. The wolf may be persuaded to help you through any forest for the promise of mountain land free of orcs.”

 

“Why would we need the help of a wolf?” Thorin grumbled underneath his breath, “We are more than capable of protecting ourselves.”

Something similar to a deep growl rumbled in Beorn’s chest, “Don’t be a fool. A darkness lies upon that forest. Foul things creep beneath those trees. There is an alliance between the Orcs of Moria and the Necromancer in Dol Guldur. I would not venture there except in great need. At least with the wolf by your side you will have a greater chance.”

 

“We will take the Elven Road. That path is still safe.” Gandalf said.

 

“Safe?” Beorn scoffed, “The Wood-Elves of Mirkwood are not like their kin. They’re less wise and more dangerous. But it matters not.”

 

“What do you mean?” Thorin asked.

 

“These lands are crawling with Orcs. Their numbers are growing and you are on foot. You will never reach the forest alive without the wolf’s help.”

 

Thorin looked shocked and offended by Beorn’s statement, a crease forming between his furrowed brows. Beorn stood from his seat at the table so that he towered over Thorin, and growled out, “I don’t like dwarves. They’re greedy and blind, blind to the lives of those they deem lesser than their own.” 

 

Beorn carefully picked up a mouse that scampered across the table, lightly stroking its fur with his thumb. Taking the last few steps so that he and Thorin were only a few feet apart. Thoring kept his arms securely crossed over his chest, looking up at the skin-changer with unwavering eyes.

 

“But,” Beorn continued after a moment, “Orcs I hate more. What do you need?”

 

~~~ 

 

While the company of dwarves, a wizard, and a hobbit saddled Beorn’s ponies and prepared for their departure. Beorn stood close to Gandalf, who was already atop his horse, and explained to the old wizard, “The wolf calls the forest by Rhimdarh River home. Head North, once you find the many trails of stones stop and wait for the wolf to come to you.”

 

“Thank you, old friend,” Gandalf said, with a gracious nod of his head.

 

Before they could ride off, Beorn called out, “You’ll want to find the wolf while you still have light, and whatever you do, don't move any of the stones.” 

 

~~~

 

The company was lucky to have the horses that Beorn had leant them. The ride to the river and forest that the wolf called home only took them until evening, but because they were desperately pressed for time, the ride weighed on them as if weeks had passed. The forest held ginormous, lush trees that blocked out most of the sun’s light. The river could be heard close by, the splashing and gurgling of moving water being the only sound that resonated through the trees. As Beorn had said, scattered all around the forest were different trails made up of small pebbles. All of the trails went about in seemingly random directions, and even passed over top of each other in some spots, but all of the paths seemed directed in the same direction- towards the river. Flocks of birds flew and nested among the trees, but stopped at the arrival of the company before taking flight and all but disappearing from sight. Gandalf halted the group of dwarves before they could go any further and they all dismounted their horses, tying their leads to tree trunks so that they don’t run off.

 

“Follow me,” Gandalf ordered, hesitant to enter the forest, “Silently. And remember not to touch any of the stone paths.”

 

“Why not?” asked Kili, “They’re just stones.”

 

“Those  _ stones  _ are mine, dwarf,” a voice echoed out from between the trees, to the left of the group. The voice sounded garbled, wrong, as if they were speaking with something caught in their throat, and the pitch and tone wavered with each word. 

 

The entire company turned and peered out into the forest, but found nothing. They all drew their weapons, preparing themselves for an attack.

 

“Who’s there? Show yourself!” Dwalin shouted out into the forest, an axe in each hand held out and ready to be used. Darkness was slowly creeping in through the trees and bringing a cold chill with it. Whoever was speaking was not happy that they were there. A loud, barking laugh rang through the air like a knife.

 

“Do you really think I would take orders from the likes of you?” This time the voice was on their other side, but it quickly moved again so it was behind them, “I do not look well upon trespassers in my forest.”

 

Gandalf snapped at the group of defensive dwarves, “Put down your weapons or we’ll get nowhere!” 

 

In a much kinder voice, Gandalf called out into the surrounding trees, “We were sent here by Beorn, he said that you could help us get through Mirkwood.”

 

The only sound that followed was the shuffled steps of the dwarves as they stared into the darkening forest, looking for any signs of movement, and the occasional snap of branches and twigs. Finally the garbled voice spoke out once again, “I could . . . but what do any of  _ you  _ have to offer me?”

 

Thorin answered, “We are being hunted by a pale orc named-”

 

“Azog,” the voice growled out in a way that was so animalistic the word could barely be heard, “I know of such an Orc.”

 

“Come with us and you can help us end the Orcs who follow him and reclaim the mountains they stole,” Thorin exclaimed, waiting for a response. 

 

The next noise to fill the small space in the forest was the loud snap of a branch, and when the company all spun towards the source of the sound, a large wolf stood watching them. The wolf was easily larger than a horse, and would have to look down to look even Gandalf in the eye. Its fur was a dark brown with patches of blond on the side of its neck and its stomach. It had pale yellow eyes filled with intelligence and looked over the dwarves one by one until its gaze rested on Thorin. A long rope was tied around its neck, at the end dangled a small hide pouch, and tied on its left paw was rough, grey fabric.

 

With eyes that made even the proudest of men want to look away in submission, the wolf bore down on Thorin, and said in a voice that sounded like the mixture of man and animal,

 

“I am called Sveilrun, and I’ll gladly help.”

 

~~~

 

The sun was thankfully just barely above the treetops as the company followed the large dark wolf called Sveilrun towards its home, so they still had some remaining light. Sveilrun’s steps were slow and carefully placed to accommodate to the dwarves shorter legs, but they still had to maintain a good pace to keep up with the wolf’s longer strides. No one spoke on their trek, and they followed the wolf closely. It was Thorin and Gandalf that noticed that the wolf only walked over the paths of stones, keeping its left paws on the left side of the path and the right paws on the right so it was directly over top of the small trail without actually touching any stones. The wolf never looked down and instead kept its head held up high, but it managed to keep to the path perfectly and not touch any of the rocks even when the path would turn. Soon the two or three paths streamed around them multiplied until they were surrounded by a cobweb of winding trails. The one or two times that one of the dwarves would bump the rocks with their boots, they’d hear a silent growl of warning rumble in the wolf’s chest, but it never outwardly spoke its displeasure. Still, the company was careful not to touch the odd wolf’s rocks to the best of their ability. Eventually the paths that had at one point winded and crossed randomly seemed to straighten out and they were all headed in the exact same direction. Soon the trees opened up and in the centre of a small field laid a house. Surrounding the house was a ring of large rocks, and all of the strange paths connected to the large ring, making it look even more like a giant cobweb. The house, from the outside, looked small and squished down into the ground. Once the group got closer it became clear that most of the house _ was _ underground, and there was a set of giant stone steps leading down into the earth. Like Beorn’s house, this one looked as if it were built to accommodate the size of the giant wolf and not a person. Large oak doors were settled into the ground at the bottom of the staircase, and were locked shut with a giant log boarding the door that was much too big for the average man to lift by himself. The wolf, however, was big enough to bite into the log’s wood and lift it into the air, tossing it onto the ground and out of the way. Pushing the doors open with its head, the wolf allowed the dwarves to enter its home. 

 

The dwarves were wary, taking in the home before fully entering and looking around. In the centre of the room was a large stone hearth with a dying fire still crackling inside and providing the only dim light in the home. There were no windows, but rafters in the roof left a crack open to the outside world. Hanging from the rafters were a series of different bird feeders made from the most peculiar objects; skulls, glass bottles, hollow wood, and what looked like animal hide. Various kinds of birds perched along the feeders and the rafters that held up the roof, staring down at the dwarves with fascination. Despite there being so many of the winged creatures, there wasn't any mess on the floor below them, giving the dwarves the impression that they may be domesticated. 

 

The furniture set around the room was just as odd as the bird feeders. It all looked like it was barely staying together, and was made from a series of branches, bones, and animal furs. There also was various shelves that had been carved into the walls of the house, each with various objects that made as little sense as the next. There were bottles filled with small pebbles, the remains of instruments that couldn’t possibly work anymore, more animal bones, children’s toys, shoes of all different sizes, and an assortment of bottles filled with dried herbs, and one filled with dried juneberries. The dwarves ended up losing themselves as they wandered around the room and took in all of the random, and mostly useless, objects. When Fili finally looked towards the door for the wolf, it was gone. His head swung around a bit, looking to see if it had followed them in, but found nothing.

 

“Where’s the wolf ?” Fili asked Kili, catching all of the other dwarves attention, “It was just at the door.”

 

“I have a name, dwarf,” a voice that sounded nothing like the one before sounded from the other side of the room, “I suggest you use it.”

 

While the voice before was gnarled, rough, and deep, this voice was lighter, yet strong, and rung through the air with perfect clarity. Standing on the other side of the room next to a curtain that separated the main room from another, pulling grey fabric tightly around herself and down her arms, was a woman. She was taller than the dwarves and hobbit, but shorter than Gandalf, and kept her head raised proudly which only added to her height. Her hair was a dark brown, almost black, and had wisps of blond locks by her ears. It splayed about in a mess of knots and curls, and looked like it hadn’t been properly kept in ages. Her eyes were a honey-brown, but seemed to shine gold in the darkened corner of the room. She shuffled further into the room, ignoring the dwarves blatant expressions of shock, and threw a log onto the hearth. The grey robes that she kept tightly wound around herself, the dwarves noticed, was the same material that had been tied around the wolf’s paw. She slouched down into one of her chairs, making it creak unsteadily, and folded her arms across her chest.

 

“Are you the wolf?” Thorin asked the woman disbelievingly, an angry frown taking over his features as he approached the hearth she sat near, “You must be joking.”

 

“I am Sveilrun, yes,” the woman replied, looking over the dwarf before her, “I don't know why I would joke of such things.”

 

“What kind of protection could be offered by  _ her?”  _ Thorin growled at Gandalf, “We’ve wasted enough time here, I say we be on our way.”

 

“Now wait just a moment, Thorin,” Gandalf reprimanded, “If Beorn trusts her abilities than we should give her a chance.”

 

“If you’re trying to pass through Mirkwood,” Sveilrun spoke up, but kept an uncaring tone, “You'll be dead within minutes without someone who knows the forest.”

 

The room filled with silence. All of the dwarves looked uncomfortably between each other. Sveilrun gave them a moment to stew in their doubts before asking, “So, is being a  _ woman  _ still an issue?”

  
  



	2. Unwanted House Guests

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sveilrun really doesn't appreciate her new house guests.

Because of the already setting sun, the dwarves were forced to spend the night in Sveilrun’s home and leave once again in the morning. Unfortunately the skin-changer didn't have proper accommodations for so many people, so the dwarves had to set their bedrolls up around the hearth in the centre of the main room. Sveilrun lead all of the horses they had borrowed from Beorn back to her home and placed them in a paddock with her own horses - which were the same breed as the bear skin-changers - allowing the dwarves to collect all of their possessions. Some of the dwarves prepared dinner in the wolf’s kitchen using vegetables from the garden behind the home and dried meat Sveilrun had preserved days before. 

Sveilrun was taking care of the horses when she was approached by Gandalf and Thorin. While Gandalf had a relaxed and cheerful demeanor about him, Thorin looked stiff and angry. Sveilrun paused the brush she was using to get some of the grime off one of the horses, and looked up at the two approaching her. The only indication of greeting that she gave was the slight nod of her head before she returned to brushing the horse, speaking to it in a language neither Thorin or Gandalf could understand. The two approaching the wolf woman could barely see her in the dark of the night, and would have missed her if it weren't for the hint of yellow shine that came from her eyes.

“Thank you for your hospitality, Sveilrun,” Gandalf remarked the skin-changer politely, “We just have a small matter we need to go over before we leave.”

Gandalf sent Thorin an expectant glance until the dwarf king begrudgingly pulled folded parchment from the inside of his fur cloak and handed it to Sveilrun. The woman took the paper hesitantly, unfolding it with gentle hands. The contract she was given listed her as the fifteenth member of the company, the occupation labeled as ‘Watchdog’. Sveilrun raised an unimpressed brow at the dwarf king, whose lips quirked slightly in amusement. Sveilrun huffed before reading what was listed in the rather long contract - most of which was taken up by all of the possible deaths - murmuring some of it underneath her breath. The contract promised a share of the gold of Erebor in return for whatever protection and guidance she could offer. She did not have an interest in whatever treasure could be found in the mountain, but if she were to be successful in the reclaiming of her homeland she could use the gold to replace what had been lost in the orc raids that destroyed her village. Even if there was no longer anyone to fill the homes that had been lost.

After going over it a second time, Sveilrun growled lowly in her throat before nodding, “Fine.”

“Excellent,” Gandalf commented, producing the skin-changer a quill to sign with, and smiled, “I knew this one wouldn't faint.”

Sveilrun quickly signed the paper with a messily scrawled ‘S’, that looked even poorer in comparison to Thorin’s charming signature, and handed it back to the dwarf king. He stuffed it back into his fur jacket before taking his leave of them and heading back to his company. Sveilrun sniffed ungracefully as his turned back before her eyes flickered to the elder wizard before her.

“Is he always such a way?” Sveilrun asked, putting down the brush and letting the horse return to its herd. 

“Thorin’s concerns lie with the company’s success and safety,” Gandalf replied, pulling a long pipe from his traveling robes, “For now he sees you as an unnecessary risk, but don’t fret, he will warm up to you sooner or later.”

“Make no mistake, I do not care what the dwarf thinks of me,” Sveilrun corrected, pulling out a pipe of her own and leading the wizard to a wooden log that was faced to look out over the small field the horses grazed from, “However, I am not pleased with the tones of disrespect.”

Gandalf chuckled, taking a seat on the log as he puffed trails of smoke, and said more to himself than to the woman, “Warming up to each other may take some time.”

Sveilrun made a silent noise of agreement at the back of her throat, wisps of smoke escaping her lips, “That is an understatement.”

The two sat in comfortable silence after that, simply enjoying the peace that the night had to offer. Or at least, that’s what Sveilrun had wished, unfortunately any semblance of peace that the night air could have brought her was lost as she heard a muffled crash emit from the house behind them. Her face twisted into a brief frown of frustration before she sighed and stood to her feet.

“Excuse me, there are some house guests that need to be ki- attended to,” Sveilrun sighed, only earning an amused chuckle from Gandalf.

Storming towards the house, trying her best to keep her temper in check, Sveilrun threw open the door and found her home completely overtaken by the company of dwarves. Most of the dwarves were concentrating on creating an enormous feast, most of which from Sveilrun’s own food storage, but the rest were wondering around the room studying everything they found. The crash, as she had heard just moments before, seemed to be from one of her glass jars falling off a shelf and shattering upon the floor. A pile of rocks and broken glass were strewn across the rock floor, which was being cleaned up by one of the dwarves. Sveilrun didn’t have to say anything, she simply folded her arms across her chest angrily and raised one of her dark eyebrows, and a young, dark haired dwarf, who had introduced himself earlier as Kili, stepped forward and said apologetically, “Sorry, I bumped it with my elbow.”

Sveilrun sighed and had to resist the urge to growl in frustration. If the young dwarf didn’t look so much like a wounded pup she would probably be much angrier, but as it was she couldn’t find the will to snap at the lad. 

“It was just an accident,” She muttered, more to herself than anyone else, “Don’t fuss over it.” 

“Hey, where did you get all of this stuff?” An even younger dwarf, Ori if she remembered correctly, asked, his hands folded in front of him as if to keep himself from touching anything.

“I found it,” Sveilrun replied shortly.

“You have quite the collection of books,” A short creature, most definitely not a dwarf Sveilrun observed from the even further lack in height and facial hair, pointed out.

“Thank you,” Sveilrun responded, her eyes narrowing down on the extremely small man, “Apologies, but I don’t believe I’ve ever met one of your kind. Who are you?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, my name is Bilbo, Bilbo Baggins,” He introduced friendly, holding his hand up to shake hers politely, “I’m a hobbit.”

The woman took his hand to shake before releasing it, and replied “Sveilrun. It is nice to meet someone who can appreciate more than jars of pebbles.”

Just as she spoke, the larger dwarf, Bombur, walked past with a gigantic stock of meats piled in his arms haphazardly.

“Or food,” Sveilrun added, wondering what will be left in her pantries by the end of the dwarves’ raid.

Bilbo smiled somewhat sympathetically, “You’ll . . . get used to their behaviors. Eventually.”

Sveilrun hummed her agreement, but had no time for any more conversation as she noted the leader of the company pick up a book that lay on one of her crookedly made tables. She quickly excused herself and stalked over to the tallest of the dwarves.

“That,” Sveilrun said, snatching the large, leatherbound book from his hands, “is private.”

“What is it?” Thorin asked, his eyes narrowing slightly on the book.

“None of your concern,” Sveilrun replied before placing the large book on one of her many shelves- the highest one up to be exact - so that she had to go on the tips of her toes to nudge it up. Having a few inches of height over the dwarf king was coming in handy already. Thorin grumbled underneath his breath, not understanding the privacy that would be needed for a book. 

The night continued as such; the dwarves were noisy, messy, and didn’t have a regard for the woman’s boundaries. Sveilrun had a difficult time keeping them from touching her possessions, growling underneath her breath every time she had to put something back in its place. Even her precious birds were not so fond of the noise, and most of them left to find other accommodations for the night. Eventually Sveilrun gave up trying to control all of the dwarves movements and decided to keep herself in the comfort of one of her chairs settled in the corner of the room. One of her birds, a rather large blue jay she called Hokey, settled in her lap and watched the company with cautious eyes. Sveilrun let her fingers gently brush over Hokey’s back to try and comfort him and herself. 

“I like your bird,” someone voiced next to the skin-changer. Looking up from her low chair, she found a brown haired dwarf with a funny bump of hair on top of his head. Sveilrun searched her mind for a name but came up blank, but who could blame her, all of their names sound alike.

“Thank you,” Sveilrun replied, “He’s a good companion.”

“Where will he go when you leave?” the dwarf asked.

“Back to the woods, I suppose,” Sveilrun replied, “Or to Beorn’s with the other animals.”

“You know Beorn well?” By then the dwarf had taken a seat on the floor next to the skin-changer, and took to dwarf-watching with her, “You seem different.”

“Our villages were close together, but I did not meet him until we fled the mountains,” Sveilrun replied, her fingers brushing over Hokey’s blue feathers. Feeling done with their current conversation, Sveilrun stood from her chair and lifted Hokey up so he could fly up into the rafters, and said to the dwarf as politely as she could currently manage, “Dinner looks to be nearly ready.”

Dinner was a disaster. The dwarves were loud and played strange music using anything they could get their hands on as instruments, they couldn't get the majority of the food into their mouths, and they drank enough ale and wine to kill a troll. Sveilrun sat at the end of the table near Gandalf and Bilbo, the only two with actual table manners, and watched the dwarves slowly become more and more rowdy. 

Sveilrun ate her food and downed her drink quickly before excusing herself, practically fleeing to her bedroom so as to not have to watch the company make a mess of her home any longer. Her bedroom was small and matched the rest of the house. Shelving lined the stone walls and was covered in odd and seemingly random objects. A large bed sat in the centre of the room, covered in furs and blankets that looked relatively untouched. Moving to a small dresser, the skin-changer pulled out a couple different sets of extra clothing and a spare cloak and set them on her bed. From the corner of the room she pulled out a large harness that looked to be fit for a large horse, and had two saddlebags on each side. She stuffed the clothing into one of the bags before searching for the next things she would need. A dagger made from the jawbone of a stag, a child’s toy - more specifically a rabbit - made of thick fabrics and had been mended many times, and a small wooden kalimba. Using one of her thicker wool blankets, she wrapped all of these seemingly pointless objects up securely and also placed them in a bag. Lastly she pulled out the pipe from her cloak and placed that in the bag as well. Seeing how annoyed she already was with the dwarves, she would probably need it later.

Finished with her packing, she leaned her head close to the door that separated the main room from the bedroom and listened. The dwarves seemed to be finished with their meal, most likely being successful in completely draining the home of anything edible. There was no longer the sound of food splattering on the floor or walls, or the heavy clang of utensils against plates. Instead only the sound of varying instruments playing bouncing tunes, and deep voices singing cheerful songs and stories, sounded through the home. Deeming it safe to enter the room once again, Sveilrun quietly slipped through the door and clicked it shut behind her. 

“There you are!” Gandalf’s cheerful voice filled Sveilrun’s ears, “I was wondering where our hostess had run off to.”

Gandalf, along with all of the dwarves, sat comfortably around the giant stone hearth. A long pipe sat in his hands, smoke rings chasing each other above the skin-changer’s head, and he motioned for her to join them. 

“I was simply packing some of my things,” Sveilrun said as she walked forward, but did not sit with the company, “My apologies, but it seems I have some business I must attend to before our departure tomorrow. I should return before dawn.”

“Business?” Thorin questioned, looking up at the woman under his brows, "what business could be had at this time of night?"

"If you must know, I need to speak to Beorn before our departure," Sveilrun replied with a harsh tone, "I only leave with his blessing of your quest."

"Do you not believe our tale?" Thorin growled.

"I would have to be a fool to leave my faith in the hands of strangers," Sveilrun retaliated, before repeating, "I shouldn't be long," and sweeping from the room.

Sveilrun’s bare feet drifted silently over the long grasses around her home as she made her way towards the forest. Once she reached the secluded darkness of the forest, where even the eyes of a wolf have a hard time seeing and the silent fluttering and skittering of birds and mice filled her ears, she shifted into her wolf form and took off into the night. The wolf’s long, powerful legs stretched as far as they could with each stride, and her claws dug into the earth to propel her forward. Even without scent and stone paths to guide her, she knew exactly where to go as the presence of the only remaining skin-changer called her onwards. The trees parted into a giant field, the light of the moon making everything seem to glow in an ethereal way, and her pace quickened. Running through trees was much more difficult than open spaces. She reached the home of the great bear skin-changer within two hours, and slowed herself to a light lope. Her eyes caught many of the smaller animals that Beorn kept for company and saw them cower away from her presence. 

“They can smell the blood on you, strikwon,” The deep grumbling voice of the bear skin-changer greeted the wolf, “How it is you tamed your birds I shall never know with death clinging to your skin.”

“Not all of us can live on honey alone,” Sveilrun chuckled in reply, “My birds know that to be the scent of an awaiting meal.”

“I don’t suppose it’s a good meal awaiting that makes my horses so fond of you than?” 

“No, but a brush and exchange of words may help,” Sveilrun replied. 

Beorn let loose a loud, hearty laugh, and stepped forward to throw his arms around the wolf’s neck, “It has been too long, Sveilrun. Although I am glad to see an old friend, I wish we were meeting in better circumstances.”

“So what the dwarves say is all true?” Sveilrun asked the bear skin-changer seriously.

“Aye, what they say is all true,” Beorn’s tone dropped from it’s previous happiness, “I suppose that means you will go with them?”

“I miss my home, Beorn,” Sveilrun murmured, the wolf’s voice coming out as a soft rumble, “My real home. I miss the mountains and the moon. Even if there is no one to fill the village as there once was; what we have here is not the same. I can’t wait any longer. I refuse to wait for them to perish, the orcs are a staining plague that must be wiped out.”

“I know,” Beorn sighed, “I will not try and stop you from leaving, but please be careful wherever you may travel.”

“If I succeed I shall return,” Sveilrun promised, “If not . . . take care of my birds for me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Any comments, constructive criticism, or reviews would be much appreciated!


	3. The Night Outside Mirkwood

The forest that the company rapidly approached was dark and the trees loomed over them all menacingly. The loud clomping of the ponies hooves, along with the thump’s of a wolf’s paws, filled the air. Sveilrun was at the front of the group, a large harness like contraption on the wolf form’s back with saddlebags attached. The wolf’s ears were perked up in attention, the forest was rapidly changing, becoming more dangerous with every passing week, and the thought unnerved the skin-changer. Even for her, someone whose knowledge of the wild ran within their very blood, the forest could be an extremely dangerous place. The company got as close as they could to the forest before dismounting their ponies. Gandalf approached the dark woods, through an ancient archway that looked like it had long been forgotten.

“The Elven Gate,” Gandalf spoke before turning to face the others, “Here lies our path through Mirkwood.”

“No sign of the Orcs,” Dwalin pointed out, “We have luck on our side.”

“The Orcs will stay away as long as the bear is near,” the rough, growling voice of the wolf spoke, as it sat down near the gate. The bear could be seen standing atop a distant ridge, watching the company as they stood outside the forest, “We should be safe to spend the night here.”

“Spend the night? We don’t have time to waste another night, the Orcs will be on our trail,” Thorin huffed angrily.

“Do you not pay attention to your surroundings?” Sveilrun taunted in her rumbled voice, “Night will fall soon, only a fool would enter now. The Orcs are more occupied with crossing the bear’s territory. One night here is safer then in there.”

“Sveilrun is right,” Gandalf said with an exhausted tone, “It would be nightfall before we’d cross the forest.”

“Fine,” Thorin grumbled defiantly for a moment before ordering the dwarves, “get all of the supplies and set up camp, but we’re leaving at dawn.”

“Set the ponies loose,” Gandalf said as he glanced up at the great bear watching them from the ridge, “Let them return to their master.”

Sveilrun sat on the edge of the forest and peered in, listening and watching for any movement. The forest was disturbingly silent, but the only sound she could find was the sound of the dwarves unpacking their supplies. She was aware of Gandalf standing only a few feet away, doing the same as her with an unsettled frown on his brow. A large wolf ear twitched back when she heard the Hobbit approach her and the old wizard. Sveilrun looked down at the halfling, who glanced up at her with surprisingly curious eyes. She nodded her head at him politely before returning her great yellow eyes to the forest.

“This forest feels,” Bilbo said with a pained expression, “sick, as if a disease lies upon it. Is there no way around?”

“Not unless we go two hundred miles north,” Sveilrun replied, “Or twice that distance south. And I don’t suppose your leader will look too fondly upon those options.”

Bilbo chuckled dryly, but seemed put out by the thought of entering the forest. Gandalf stepped through the archway and made his way onto the path, leaving Sveilrun’s view, but she wasn’t worried as she already knew the old wizard was not to be trifled with and could manage himself if need be. 

“Why do you follow the dwarves?” Sveilrun asked the hobbit, “The last I heard, halflings stuck to their homes.”

“I'm still trying to figure that out myself,” Bilbo replied with an innocent earnestness that made a deep rolling chuckle pass through the wolf’s chest, “I'm their burglar, according to them.”

The wolf snorted humorously, “I take it you weren't so willing to choose that post?”

“They didn't force me, if that’s what you mean,” Bilbo corrected, “I’m here because I want to be.”

“Do you think you’ll have the same perspective once you reach the end of your quest?” Sveilrun asked, watching the hobbit with cunning eyes.

“Well, I - I would like to think so, yes,” he managed to reply.

The wolf looked over the hobbit and bobbed its head in approval, “We shall see.”

At that moment Gandalf emerged from the forest in a rush, and managed to yell just as the dwarves were releasing their ponies, “Not my horse! I need it.”

All of the dwarves stared on in confusion and murmured their surprise between each other.

“You’re not leaving us?” Bilbo asked with the same surprise as the dwarves. 

“I would not do this unless I had to.” Gandalf replied in a hurry.

Gandalf and Thorin share a look of understanding, but when the wizard turned to the hobbit who looked rather dejected at Gandalf’s sudden departure. Gandalf quickly pulled Bilbo off to the side so they could share a few words. Sveilrun looked to the sky and found the sun just beginning to kiss the distant mountain range. A certain discomfort filled her bones; she would have to turn back into a woman soon. It had been set for years that the wolf favoured the day, and the woman favoured the night. To leave that pattern for more than a few hours was extremely discomforting. The moment the last rays of sunlight fell behind the mountain the person would begin to outweigh the wolf. Sveilrun huffed in annoyance. She would have to find a secluded place to shift, as the thought of appearing naked in front of thirteen dwarves and a hobbit was more than a little unnerving. She stood to her full height and shook out her shaggy dark fur, hearing the metal buckles and hide stripes jingle with her movement. Luckily because of the size difference between the wolf and the woman, when she shifts back the large harness carrying all of her gear will just slip off. The thought of having to ask for help to get it off was enough to send a disgusted chill down her spine.

Walking towards the dwarves, who had already managed to have a fire started and some of their bedrolls laid out, she caught Gandalf's words to Thorin, “I’ll be waiting for you at the overlook, before the slopes of Erebor. Keep the map and key safe. Do not enter that mountain without me.”

As Gandalf continued to his horse he kept speaking to the dwarf, “This is not the Greenwood of old. The very air of the forest is heavy with illusion. It will seek to enter your mind and lead you astray.”

Sveilrun could hear Bilbo asking Dwalin a few feet away, “Lead us astray? What does that mean?” and couldn’t help but chuckle. This company has no idea of what waits within the forest. But then again, neither did she.

Gandalf quickly mounted his horse, but continued talking, “You must stay on the path; do not leave it. If you do, you will never find it again.”

As he began to ride off Gandalf yelled out again, “No matter what may come, stay on the path!”

If only Sveilrun had realized how difficult the next few weeks would be for her, she may have turned back.

~~~

As the evening passed, and the sun made it’s descent over the mountains, the group of dwarves all sat merrily around a roaring fire with servings of cooked stew before them. Sveilrun shifted uncomfortably from her spot a few feet away from the fire. The sun would set soon, and she knew she would have to change to her weaker state. Her discomforts were easily noticed by Thorin, and the dark haired dwarf couldn’t help but let out a dry chuckle, “Please, don’t tell me our great protector is afraid of the dark.”

“I find the arrogance of kings much more frightening than anything else I’ve encountered, I suppose I shall remain uncomfortable for the entire trip,” the wolf’s growling voice shot back at the dwarf leader, earning a few muffled laughs from the other dwarves sat around the fire.

Standing with a huff of annoyance, the wolf turned from the dwarves with a simple, “I have business to attend to, I shouldn’t be but a moment.”

Sveilrun heard Thorin mutter some backhanded comment underneath his breath, but didn’t bother with the dwarf’s bitter attitude. She only entered a few paces into the woods before she let the transformation take over. She felt her bones crack and bend, her skin shrink and tighten, and her skull pull back and reform. Luckily the discomfort only lasted a moment, and just as soon it began it was over and she stood in the darkness of the forest. She felt the large harness the wolf wore fall to her feet, along with the old cloak it had wrapped around its paw. Luckily she packed some better clothes into the bags attached to the wolf’s harness, and wouldn’t be subjugated to the discomfort of having only her cloak once again. Sveilrun quickly dressed herself, pulling on a white tunic and worn pants with the proper undergarments, and then threw on her cloak over top for extra warmth. Picking up the harness, she quickly made her way back towards the camp of dwarves. 

The dwarves at that point had begun playing different instruments as one or two danced around the fire. Fiddles, violas, flutes, and drums all played along to the deep voices that sang along. If they hadn’t looked so joyous, Sveilrun would be tempted to warn them of making too much noise, but she couldn’t hear any signs of Orcs nearby and left them to their songs. Most of the dwarves had some form of instrument to play, and those who didn’t were stomping their feet along or chanting ridiculous tunes. Sveilrun was able to slip in without causing too big of a stir, and sat herself next to Bilbo. When the hobbit noticed her presence, he quickly jumped to his feet to grab her a wooden bowl filled to the brim with hot stew. 

Sveilrun took the bowl from him, surprised that he’d grab her any and said a simple ‘thank you’ before digging into the meal. As she ate she watched Bilbo from the corner of her eye. He was definitely odd, for a hobbit, most of his sort would scoff at the idea of going on a perilous adventure. He didn’t take part in any of the singing or dancing that the dwarves were so fond of, but he watched with a certain fascination that reminded her of a child. Thorin also didn’t take part in the dwarves displays, but a golden harp rested next to him wrapped in a cloth. 

As she ate, she found the sleeves of her cloak becoming a hindrance as they kept sliding down into her food, so she pulled the sleeves back and up to her elbows. The hobbit couldn’t help the small gasp of surprise when he saw what laid beneath her sleeves. Sveilrun’s wrists were horribly scared. From the base of her hand to three inches up her forearm was a long and hideous array of scars on both arms in the form of deep gashes. The bumpy and disfigured skin was a pale pink in comparison to her tan skin, and made the hobbit’s stomach roll. To him, it looked as if a savage animal had tried to tear off her hands, and had almost succeeded. Bilbo was not the only one to notice. Many of the dwarves, the ones not preoccupied by dancing or instruments, quickly took notice to the woman’s arms.

Sveilrun could feel their stares as she dug into her food, but didn’t look up. She knew they would be thinking up all different kinds of possibilities as to how she got the scars on her wrists, and frankly couldn’t give a damn what they thought. But of course such things were not appropriate to ask about, even the dwarves knew that, and they quickly averted their stares. They continued their displays of dancing and singing around the roaring fire, and put whatever abuse the woman had faced to the back of their minds. It was only the dark haired leader who kept his piercing blue eyes fixed on the woman as she ate.

As the fire died and the dwarves’ songs slowed to a stop, they all found themselves needing the comfort of sleep so they would have energy for the next day. Thorin selected a few dwarves to keep watch at different times during the night; Kili, Fili, Balin, and himself. Sveilrun would also remain awake; it was rare when the woman could grasp onto sleep, especially in her current form, and knew that this night would be even more difficult with a group of snoring dwarves. As the others all made to rest, Sveilrun found herself in the company of the older, white haired dwarf. She had been sitting at the edge of the group, positioned so she could keep a watchful gaze over the company but also keep her eyes on the forest. The older dwarf had shuffled over to her and plunked himself down with a friendly enough smile.

“Not going to rest?” he asked the skin-changer quietly.

“Not tired yet,” She replied, which wasn’t a complete lie, and shrugged her shoulders, “Besides, if anything approaches, I’ll hear them sooner if I’m awake.”

The old dwarf nodded his head understandingly, “Well the company will be nice.”

“My apologies, in the introductions earlier there were one too many names for me to attach to faces, could you refresh my memory as to what you’re called?”

“No worries lass, my name is Balin,” He replied, not dropping his happy expression.

Sveilrun simply nodded her head in greeting, and the two lapsed into silence. The sun had long since set behind the mountains, letting darkness fill the land, and the only light to be shown came from a crescent moon and the stars. Sveilrun let her mind wander as she traced over the stars with her eyes, finding the few constellations she knew of and remembering the ones she had made up, and the ones of her family. She read the different stories that the sky had to offer. Many of her ancestors believed that the stories to-be were written in the stars, and they taught their young to read them, but the skill took many years to learn and even longer to understand. There were very few skin-changers that could read them properly, and Sveilrun wouldn't consider herself one of them. Once in awhile she found something, but those moments were rare and far apart. 

A variety of different sounds filled the air around her as she gazed up at the sky; the crackling of what remained of the fire, insects and mice crawling across the earth, the loud snoring of the dwarves, and occasionally a silent flutter of wings that Sveilrun could only interpret as the evening movements of an owl. It was a rare moment when there was no noise to be heard, and this definitely wasn’t one of them. 

“If I may ask,” Balin suddenly spoke, snapping Sveilrun from her star-gazing, “What were the stones for? The ones around your home?”

“Why do you ask?” Sveilrun retorted.

“No reason really, just curiosity,” Balin replied good-naturedly, “See, I’ve been trying to think of reasons all day and so far all I’ve come up with is that you really like rocks.”

“They help me find where I am,” Sveilrun answered truthfully, “Some forests can be disorienting.”

“Ah, you’re like Thorin than,” Balin concluded, “He has a terrible sense of direction.”

“Is that so?” the young woman chuckled silently.

Balin nodded, “He managed to get turned around twice in the Shire alone.”

The thought of the stone-faced dwarf getting lost among the hills of hobbit homes was highly amusing to Sveilrun, and she had to stifle one of her loud, barking laughs. The night continued with humorous stories passed between the elder dwarf and the shape-changer. The conversation was thankfully light, Balin didn’t say or ask anything that could lead to more gloomy topics, and Sveilrun was quite grateful for that. After such an odd day, she was glad to simply share stories. Unfortunately his time to keep watch came to an end and he excused himself kindly to wake the next person for watch; Fili. The blond dwarf groaned in frustration when Balin awoke him, and slouched his way over to where Sveilrun sat.

“Why’r you ‘wake?” Fili slurred his words at the end of a drowsy yawn, and dropped himself gracelessly onto the ground next to her.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Sveilrun replied simply.

“You get used to the snoring after a while,” Fili mumbled and nodded towards the large group of sleeping dwarves.

“I can hear much more than just the snoring,” Sveilrun replied, and at his confused look elaborated, “Wolf ears. My house was underground for a reason- no noise or light.”

“What else is there to hear? It’d be dead quiet if it weren’t for them,” Fili responded, folding his arms over his chest and letting out another yawn.

Sveilrun couldn’t help the small smile that tugged on her face as she replied, “The night is full of much more life than you’d expect.”

Fili nodded, but his eyebrows creased in semi disbelief. They fell into a moment of silence that was broken once Sveilrun realized Fili was staring at her.

“What?” She asked defensively.

“Do you ever brush your hair?” Fili asked bluntly, his eyes fixed on her hair.

“I'm beginning to think I preferred Balin,” Sveilrun muttered more to herself but let it be heard, “Why would I bother with hair when I am only a person at night, and rarely entertain company?”

“Why are you only a person at night?” He asked. Sveilrun was beginning to think that all dwarves were inherently nosy. 

“That's just the way things are,” Sveilrun replied shortly.

“I think your hair would look much better in a braid,” Fili stated, standing to his feet and moving behind the woman.

“What are you doing?” Sveilrun questioned, the hint of a growl to her tone.

“Fixing the mess on your head, hold still,” Fili commanded, and she felt his hands tugging on a few strands of her hair. She glared at him over her shoulder but said nothing. Sveilrun didn't really care about the state of her hair, but if fixing it made the dwarf stop bothering her then she would appease him. She could feel his hands make quick work of her hair as he braided many different strands together. She used to have her hair braided when she was younger by one of her brothers, but since she lived alone she didn't bother and didn't have anyone to do it for her. 

Eventually Fili’s hands drew away and she could hear him shuffling back to where he sat at her side.

“There,” he said proudly, “Much better.”

Sveilrun reached back to touch the simple braid that held her hair together, and ran her fingers over it lightly, “Thank you, I suppose. It's been awhile since I've had my hair done in such a way.”

“Why’s that?” Fili asked.

“No reason I suppose,” Sveilrun said, trying to ignore the painful twinge in her chest. 

The next few hours of the night continued normally. Sveilrun and Fili made polite conversation, more to keep Fili from falling back asleep than for the actual conversation. Just like with Balin, they kept conversations rather light and didn't speak too seriously. But once again the night began to pass and Fili’s turn at night watch was over, and he happily returned to his bed roll to claim back his missing sleep. Next up was Kili. Unlike his brother, Kili was much more awake and smiled at Sveilrun as he sat at her side. 

“Why are you awa-?”

“Not tired,” Sveilrun answered before he could finish, having already heard the question from two other dwarves.

Kili nodded in reply, before saying, “Can I ask you a question?”

Sveilrun had to muffle the growl that threatened to leave her throat. ‘Dwarves and their questions’, she thought to herself, but instead replied, “Sure.”

“Why do wolves howl at the moon?” Kili asked with a voice so serious he could have been asking what happens after death. 

“That's your question?” Sveilrun said disbelievingly.

“Well see, it seems a little pointless unless the moon can howl back- it can't right?” He asked again, his eyebrows pinched together with concern.

“No,” Sveilrun answered slowly, waiting for the dwarf to say he was joking but he remained to look invested in the conversation topic, “The moon cannot howl. And wolves don't howl at the moon.”

“They don't?” Kili asked, the disappointment in his voice reaching a comical level, and made Sveilrun nearly snort in laughter.

“No, of course not,” She shook her head at him, “They howl to send messages to other wolves.”

“Why?”

“Because it's easier over long distances,” Sveilrun replied.

“I guess that makes sense,” Kili said, “Then why do people say wolves howl to the moon?”

‘Because people are stupid,’ Sveilrun thought to herself, but said aloud, “There are many reasons. Old fairy tales from my ancestors suggest that wolves were the creators of the moon and held control over it.”

“Oh.” Kili responded shortly.

“They are simply fairy tales, things we told cubs and nothing more,” Sveilrun explained before he could get any thoughts in his head.

“Tell me the story,” Kili said as more of a command than a request, but catching her scolding look added a quick, “please.”

Sveilrun huffed underneath her breath before going into a telling of the story that had been permanently embedded into her memory because of all the times she had told her brothers and other cubs younger than herself. The story went on to tell of how the earth was plagued with darkness in the evenings, so dark and empty that villagers feared to leave their homes because they believed the darkness would swallow them whole. Until four wolf brothers designed a giant lantern, so bright it lit across the land and took away the villagers’ fear. The four brothers named the lantern the Moon, and its presence became known across the land. Soon kings from other lands became jealous, and wanted the Moon for themselves. But the four brothers were strong, and protected the lantern against thieves. The day they died each brother took a piece of the Moon with them, and placed it in the sky so all may see its light. Every night one brother would display his piece of the Moon, and for three days a month they would come together to give as much light as they could. The four brothers stayed in the sky with the Moon to protect it, becoming the first stars, and their children followed them and so forth, until the sky was full of light even in the darkest of times. 

Sveilrun’s story went on for a while, and the younger dwarf listened intently with the fascination that children show. Sveilrun couldn't help but laugh at his expression, “It’s just a story, Kili. It’s not actually real.”

“Yes, but it’s a very good story,” He retorted with a grin, “You must tell me more of these tales sometime, they are quite enjoyable.”

‘Of course it’s the story we tell children that he finds interesting,’ Sveilrun thought to herself, but just chuckled and nodded her head. Without fully realizing it, she had begun to compare the two dwarven brothers to the ones she had lost many years before, and while the resemblance made her chest twist in pain, it also gave her a feeling of joy that had recently become scarce to her. They passed time by telling each other short fairy tales and myths from their different ancestors. Kili’s stories definitely told of how proud and stubborn the dwarves were, and their love for music, food, and gold, while Sveilrun’s tales were about superstitions and stories to teach young cubs. But like each dwarf before that one, he too left to claim some of the sleep that he had lost while another came to take his place. Sveilrun found it quite comical that even though he had seemed wide awake and attentive the entire time, he dropped like a rock when he reached his bedroll and almost instantly fell asleep. 

The next dwarf to grace her with his presence made her wish she could have slept; Thorin. Like Fili, he didn’t look pleased at all to be awoken so early in the morning while the rest got to sleep, and a grumpy scowl was set on his face. Thorin slumped on the ground near Sveilrun, since she was sitting at the best vantage point to watch over the camp, but kept two meters in between them like she were plagued with a terrible disease. He didn't say hello, but did give a muted grunt in greeting. 

Sveilrun raised a single brow at the blatantly unhappy dwarf and muttered, “Well, good morning to you, I see you awoke on the usual side of the bedroll. Cant imagine what you’d look like waking up happy.”

“Why are you awake?” Thorin grumbled.

“Just so I could be in your most esteemed presence,” Sveilrun replied with sarcasm practically dripping off her tongue, “It couldn’t possibly be because dwarves sound like dying wargs when they sleep.”

“What did you expect, wolf? A palace?” Thorin replied bitterly.

“Oh trust me, any expectations I may have had about you have turned to dust,” Sveilrun replied with a smirk.

Thorin scoffed, “I could say the same.”

“Just curious, but is your problem with me purely because I’m a woman? Or because you hold concern for the safety of your company?” Sveilrun asked in a more serious tone, “I couldn’t care less what you think of me, but if it is just because of my gender than that’s a pathetic reason.”

“Oh yeah?” Thorin replied, “Because your reasons for hating me are just so much better.”

“I never said I hated you- hate is an emotion I save for a select few,” Sveilrun corrected, “You should never underestimate anyone, no matter their size or if they are a woman or man. It could kill you one day.”

“I doubt that,” Thorin replied, “I am a descendant of Durin, our line is not so easily snuffed out.”

“I heard similar things said about my ancestry line,” Sveilrun said, her hands absently tracing the scars on her wrists, “And now there is one, and soon there will be none. Don’t be naïve enough to think that strength alone will help you evade death.”

Thorin’s expression changed to one of brief surprise, but he quickly hid it under an expressionless mask. His eyes drifted to her wrists once again, as they had at the fire, and he asked in a biting tone, “Is that where those are from, then? Orcs kill your family and make you their pet?”

A sharp stab pierced Sveilrun’s chest, but she replied in a venomous tone, “That's almost correct,” lifting up her arms to look over her mangled wrists in the moonlight she continued, “But I did this to myself.”

Thorin’s eyes widened in horror and some of the colour drained from his face, but Sveilrun pushed him further, “I probably could have finished the job if I didn’t pass out from blood loss. See, wolves weren’t meant to be locked up, and mine in particular isn't too fond of shackles.”

Thorin opened his mouth as if to speak, but closed it again, unable to find the words. The image of a wolf tearing at its own paws, its teeth digging into the fur and flesh in a desperate attempt to free itself, made his stomach roll. 

With a tone of sickening sweetness, and her eyes glowing gold in the darkness of night, Sveilrun asked, “Still think women are weak?”

~~~

The night continued in complete silence between the dwarf king and the skin-changer. Neither had any more to say; Thorin was shocked and felt ashamed of his previous attitudes, and Sveilrun felt too upset and angry to speak. She didn’t like to dredge up the past, but Thorin had pushed her buttons and she lost her temper. She reprimanded herself for losing control of her emotions so easily, but for some reason the dwarf had the ability to bring such emotions to her too easily for her liking.

Once Sveilrun could feel the first hints of the sun rising up behind the mountains, she knew her time as a woman was limited. The wolf would be calling soon and she would rather not give Thorin a show after their argument. Standing to her feet, she brushed the grass from her pants and picked up her wolf-harness from the ground next to her. Lifting it up onto her shoulder to keep it from dragging on the ground, she muttered a silent, “be right back,” in Thorin’s direction before heading off into the forest. She wasn’t sure if he replied or not, and she couldn’t care either way.

Sveilrun quickly got undressed in the darkness of the forest and stuffed her clothes into one of the saddlebags attached to her harness except for her cloak. Her cloak she tied into a large ring and hung it off her wrist loosely. She threw the harness over her shoulders so it hung and almost touched the ground. When she shifted the harness became snug against the wolf’s form, and the cloak tightened around her paw. She had perfected this routine years ago to make shifts as quick as possible. Stepping back into the clearing, she shook out her shaggy black fur and stalked towards the spot she and Thorin had been seated at. She kept a comfortable distance away from the dwarf, and laid down, resting her ginormous snout on her front paws. Within moments she was asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Any comments, reviews, or constructive criticism would be appreciated!


	4. The Path Through Mirkwood

When Sveilrun awoke next, the sound of dwarves bustling around their camp met her ears. She cracked open a single yellow eye to glare out at the camp and found all of the dwarves packing up their equipment and preparing breakfast. She slept on the outskirts of the camp and was relatively alone for once. Thorin was nowhere in sight and she was glad for that. Just the thought of the hard-headed, rude dwarf made a low growl rumble in the wolf’s chest. Sveilrun was not in the best of moods, and the thought of her conversation last night with Thorin was making it worse.

Sveilrun could hear boots clomping against the ground coming towards her and closed her eye again, hoping that if she looked asleep they might leave her alone for a few more minutes. 

“Are you awake?” Kili’s voice asked tentatively, “Sve- Sver, Seil- ah, your name is too long, I'll think of something later. Are you awake? . . . Are you?”

Sveilrun huffed in frustration. He wasn't going to leave until she answered, so she gave a low voiced response, “Yes, I'm awake.”

“Oh, good,” He replied happily, “Bombur and Bilbo are making some breakfast, it should be ready soon and then we’re heading out. Thorin said to make sure you’re ready.”

“I have nothing to ‘ready’. Do not awaken me again until there is either food, it is time to leave, or someone is dying” Sveilrun growled, before rolling over so her back faced the dwarves. She closed her eyes once again and let her mind swim in the place between reality and the world of dreams. 

The skin-changer could faintly hear conversations from the dwarves behind her, and was tempted to cover her ears with her paws, if not to block out the sound than because of the embarrassment they were causing her.

Kili’s voice sounded first, “I don’t think she’s much of a morning person. She said not to wake her up again unless someone is dying, it’s time to leave, or there’s food ready.”

Balin let out a quiet chuckle, “I guess she’s regretting staying up so late last night.”

“She was awake on your shift?” Kili asked, “She was on mine too. I just thought she woke up sometime in the night. How much sleep do you think she got?”

Sveilrun could faintly hear Balin grumble underneath his breath, “Not sure, but not as much as she should. Thorin, was she awake during your shift?”

“Yes,” Thorin’s hesitant reply came, “Fili?”

“She was awake in mine too,” Fili’s voice sounded, all of the dwarves were silent for a moment before Fili asked under his breath, “I didn’t want to ask her . . . but where do you think those scars came from? It looks like an animal tried to have its way at her arms.”

“Maybe one did,” Kili’s sounded this time.

“It is none of our concern where they came from,” Thorin’s stern voice put an end to the four dwarves conversation, “Back to work, we need to be ready for travel within the next twenty minutes. Food rations are getting low, so breakfast today is going to have to be halved today. Don’t whine, Bombur, you eat the most of us all. Once we pass through Mirkwood we might be able to find something to hunt.”

Sveilrun wasn’t pleased that the dwarves were speaking of her private matters behind her back, but what caught her attention most was the lowering food supply. If she had known they could have taken vegetables from her garden before they set out. Snarling angrily at herself, Sveilrun got to her feet and shook out her fur. Listening intently to the movement made outside of the camp, in the forest and the fields, she found what sounded like a small group of hoofed creatures nearby. Probably deer or elk, she thought to herself. She began walking in their direction through the long grass.

“And where are you going?” Thorin’s raised voice called out to the wolf, catching all of the other dwarves attention.

“I will be just a moment,” Sveilrun’s rough voice ground out, “I have some business to attend to.”

“Don’t be long,” Thorin’s stern voice called again, but she ignored him.

The wolf quickly disappeared from the dwarves view, sinking down into the long grass and making its way steadily towards the group of unsuspected prey. Once Sveilrun was close enough, she could see them properly and her pale yellow eyes gleamed in excitement. There was a small group of four deer; a doe and its fawn, a young buck, and an older stag. Sveilrun considered the dow and fawn unacceptable prey and ignored them, and instead kept her attentions on the two males. The young buck only had the smallest of antlers poking from the top of its head, and they were covered in a soft velvet, it couldn't have been older than two. The older stag head had large antlers with many points, and held its head up high with pride. It was nearing the elder stage of its life, and Sveilrun was surprised another predator hadn’t caught it already. Especially so close to the forest. 

Narrowing her sights on the elder stag, Sveilrun slowly crept through the long grass, her belly practically dragging against the ground so that she might not be seen. Her paws dug into the earth and she felt her heart hammering against her chest with the excitement of the hunt. The baser part of her brain that came with the animal within her was practically purring at the act she hadn’t performed in many days. Once she was close enough, she lunged forward and slammed against the stags chest, getting her jaw underneath its head so she could sink her teeth into its throat. The deer let out a loud cry of distress, making the others run into the cover of the forest. The old stag tried to kick its hooves against the wolf’s body in an attempt to free itself, but the attempt was half-lived as its life was already slipping away. The wolf’s teeth had managed to sink into the stag’s jugular and hot blood was pooling into the wolf’s mouth. The wolf jerked its head violently every time the deer moved, trying to give it a swift death, and eventually the deer stopped fighting back. Sveilrun peeled her teeth from the stag’s throat and pulled away to find dead eyes staring back. Saying proper thanks in her native tongue, she picked up the deer carcass from the back of the neck and made her way back towards the camp. 

~~~

“Where do you think Sveilrun has gotten herself to?” Thorin asked Balin, his arms crossed over his chest stiffly and a scowl pressing his eyebrows together, “Damned wolf has better not run off.”

“Who knows, that lass is a strange one,” Balin replied absentmindedly as he ate his breakfast, “Besides, yesterday you seemed happy to have your leave of her, what do you care?”

“Gandalf expects her to lead us through the forest, that is all,” Thorin replied stiffly, “She’s more familiar with these woods than us.”

Bofur sat near them, facing the direction that Sveilrun had left in, and spoke up to the two other dwarves, “Here she comes now- what’s that she’s got?”

All of the dwarves turned in time to see the wolf stalk towards them, the limp body of a stag hanging from her teeth and her front drenched in crimson blood. Her eyes still held a malicious yellow glint to them, but she kept them lowered to the ground. Once she was close enough she dropped the deer onto the ground and asked in a more garbled voice than usual, “Is that enough?”

The dwarves all looked on with widened eyes. No one spoke, or even moved, until finally finally Dwalin muttered, “Aye, I think that will be enough.”

The deer was huge in comparison to the dwarves, and would have enough meat on it to last all thirteen of them a week if not more, including how much Bilbo and Sveilrun ate in one meal. All of the dwarves watched as Sveilrun slowly wandered away, leaving the deer for them to deal with, needing to clean herself up. Bombur was the next to break the silence with a meek, “Would you like some breakfast? There are some cooked eggs and-”

“Not hungry,” The growling voice was so distorted most of them didn’t fully catch what she said, but understood once they looked back at the deer and found most of its throat had been torn away. 

“Remind me not to anger Sveilrun,” Bilbo mumbled, pushing his breakfast away. Any intention he had of eating had all but disappeared.

“Especially in the morning,” Kili added.

~~~

Sveilrun returned to the dwarves once they had finished treating all of the meat they could get from the deer. She was much cleaner than the last time they had seen her, and the wolf’s expression had lost the much more animalistic savageness it had carried before. No one in the company spoke of the deer that Sveilrun had brought them, but they were grateful all the same. Especially Bombur. 

With the company packed, fed, and energized for the day ahead of them, Thorin turned towards the archway revealing the path through the forest and commanded, “Come on. We must reach the mountain before the sun sets on Durin’s Day.”

“Durin’s Day,” Dwalin repeated with a firm nod, “Let’s go!”

“This is our one chance to find the hidden door,” Thorin said aloud.

Sveilrun understood the basics of what the dwarves were trying to accomplish and the impending time rush, so she made her way to the front of the group so she could lead them through the forest as quickly as possible. Thorin was right on her heels with the dwarves and hobbit following close behind him in a line. Once he caught up with Sveilrun’s longer strides he said to the wolf in an authoritative tone, “This is my company, I lead.”

“I don’t think so, dwarf,” Sveilrun replied, “I know the forest, I lead.”

“There's a clear pathway, only a fool would need help following a pathway,” Thorin said in a low, frustrated tone, “I'm capable of leading my own dwarves.”

“You are a fool if you believe that traveling this forest is that simple,” Sveilrun growled, “Do not argue with me, we are wasting daylight.”

Sveilrun began stalking into the forest, passing Thorin, and grumbled a few snarled curses under her breath. Of course Thorin followed close behind her, and when he stepped a little too closely Sveilrun used her tail to flick him on the head, making him stumble back. A chuckle rolled in Sveilrun’s chest as she heard Thorin spout a few dwarfish curses at the wolf's back. 

“You think me incapable of leading my company?” Thorin growled at the wolf once he managed to catch up to her, “I am a king!”

“You are not my king, dwarf,” Sveilrun’s low voice replied, “Do not expect me to treat you any differently. Besides, you couldn't even find the hobbit’s home properly, you got lost twice.”

Thorin sputtered angrily, trying to find an argument.

“The lass has a point,” Balin chuckled, a ways behind the two ‘leaders’.

Sveilrun made a short barking laugh, and raised her head higher so she could look down at the dwarf king with a triumphant, wolfish grin. 

“But,” Balin continued, scratching at his white beard, “You get lost easily too, Sveilrun. Even needed stone paths around your own house.”

“Traitor,” Sveilrun grumbled at the elder dwarf.

“Ha! You are no better than I,” Thorin laughed.

“I am more familiar with the woods than you are,” Sveilrun argued, pausing before continuing down the path.

“That counts for nothing when there is a trail!” Thorin counters.

“Well I'm taller,” Sveilrun argued childishly. She could faintly feel a lightheadedness filling her skull, making it difficult to decipher where she was going, but she couldn't tell this was happening to her. Looking down at the path, she had to take a moment to decipher which of the paths was the real one before continuing on, “The path goes this way.”

Unbeknown to any of them, it was the wrong path. 

“Don't bring height into this!” Thorin snarled, with just the slightest dizzying slur to his voice, “Besides, if we were basing leadership skills off of physical appearance, than I win because I have a beard!”

“Air. I need air,” Sveilrun could faintly hear Bofur say somewhere behind her, followed by Oin saying with a voice affected in the same way as Thorin’s, “My head, it’s spinning.”

“Stop your complaining, there’s plenty of air!” Sveilrun snarled before turning her head toward Thorin, “And you, I am covered in fur that adds up to more hair than all thirteen dwarves combined, so shut your trap and let me think!”

Sveilrun was suddenly forced to stop as she took in the path ahead of her. Or to be more appropriate, the complete lack of path. Thorin and the other dwarves had to suddenly stop as well, bumping and fumbling into each other. Thorin ran into the wolf’s back leg, falling backwards because of the sudden impact.

“What’s happening?” Oin called.

“Keep moving,” Thorin said as he clambered back onto his feet, “Why have we stopped, wolf?”

“The path,” Sveilrun said, her golden eyes wide in fear, “No, no, no. It’s gone. We’ve gone the wrong way.”

“This is why I should lead!” Thorin yelled angrily.

“What’s going on?” Dwalin’s voice called.

“We’ve lost the path!” Oin yelled.

“All of you be quiet!” Sveilrun hissed back at the dwarves, earning compliant silence with the exception of Thorin grumbling underneath his breath, “We are not the only ones in the forest. Here’s what we’re going to do; we are turning back around and finding the original path in an orderly fashion. No one step out of line, and you,” she snarled at Thorin, “Keep your trap shut and let me think or we’ll all become beasty food!”

Sveilrun turned her back on the rather surprised dwarf king, and began the walk back towards the original track, but it was becoming difficult to walk straight. The wolf’s head was filling with a fuzzy, lightheadedness that made concentrating on her task difficult. While she knew the forest well and had walked through it many times, facing various beasts along the way, nothing like this had ever happened before. It was as if the forest had become toxic, curling its fingers around the wolf’s mind and making her feel weak and disoriented. A fury of senses suddenly filled her that she had never experienced before. For the first time in years a wave of scents filled her nose, but she was not able to partake in the returned sense as it only tripled her disoriented mind. The wolf stumbled and had to slump onto the ground for a moment, her back legs giving out.

“Wolf, what is wrong with you?” Thorin’s voice called out, but he sounded distant and the voice echoed across the edges of her mind.

“Som- something is,” the wolf’s voice slurred and wavered and she had to swallow the bile that was rising in her throat, “Something isn’t right.”

Thorin stepped closer to the wolf. He was caught off guard when Sveilrun suddenly dropped down; the wolf’s head was hanging low, its legs shaking as it barely managed to keep its body somewhat upright. She was breathing hard, and he quickly stepped forward to stand in front of her. He grabbed the sides of the wolf’s face in between his hands to lift it up and stare into her eyes. Sveilrun’s eyes were unfocused, and the colour was changing between the pale yellow of the wolf and the light brown of the woman. Thorin didn’t know anything about skin-changers, but he knew that probably wasn’t supposed to happen. He was having as much difficulty thinking as the wolf currently was, and couldn't think of anything to do.

“We need to get out of here, now,” Thorin commanded to the other dwarves, keeping a light hold of the wolf incase she dropped to the ground, “Find the path. All of you look. Look for the path!”

At that point, Thoring couldn’t even tell that the dwarves were so out of their right minds that they began to simply wander aimlessly looking for an unseen pathway. 

Sveilrun could faintly tell that someone had grabbed onto her, and she wished to pull away from whoever it was. Skin-changers did not fancy being touched in their animal forms, and that applied double for her, but she felt like she was floating in an empty space. She could actually smell everything around her and it was so confusing. The scent that filled her senses the most resembled some of the baser smells she could remember from years ago; earth, leather, metal, and the smell that trees gave off in spring time. She couldn't properly place what she was smelling, but it was heavenly, and it wrapped around her senses like a warm blanket. 

“Sveilrun! You have to get up!” a voice shouted near her.

Soon, as if something had snapped back into place in Sveilrun’s subconscious, she felt herself becoming grounded. Her sight slowly returned to her, first blurry, but then firm and crisp, she could hear all of her happenings correctly, and the feeling began to return to her straining limbs. But as those senses returned all of the wonderful scents retracted and all but disappeared into the farthest corner of her mind. Once she was fully grounded again, she awoke to find Thorin’s face uncomfortably close to hers. Thorin could see the awareness return to her gaze as her pale yellow eyes narrowed on his blue ones, and he quickly dropped the wolf’s head.

The wolf stood on shaky legs and huffed when she managed to get herself standing at full height. She quickly took in her surroundings and found all of the dwarves gone from the path, wandering around the forest doing who knows what. With a growl of frustration, she looked back down at Thorin and found him wearing the same blank expression as the other dwarves as he turned towards the forest and muttered something about finding a path way. Strength recovered, Sveilrun growled out a, “Where do you think you’re going?”

The large wolf picked up the dwarf king, using her powerful jaws to latch onto the back of his jacket and lifting him up in the air the way wolves pick up their cubs. If it weren't for the serious circumstances they were in, she would have laughed at how comical they both looked. Ignoring that, she carried a strongly protesting Thorin towards the closest dwarf within eyeshot, Nori, who stood staring intently at a tree. Dropping the dwarf king there she took off to find the next dwarf. She continued like this for longer than she’d care to admit; running back and forth and herding the dwarves along into a big clump. Eventually it became apparent that the woman’s mind was stronger than the wolf’s, so she took a brief second to shift and cover herself with her grey cloak with the wolf’s harness fastened around her waist. Unfortunately after that she could only herd the dwarves back to the point she had left Thorin at, that they thankfully stayed in, by dragging them along by their cloaks. Luckily enough, she managed to get them all in one large group. It was just as she had the last missing dwarf, Bofur, that she heard rapid footfalls circling around the group. Sveilrun’s brown eyes searched frantically through the forest for the source of the sound, but she couldn’t see anything. When the eight legged beasts attacked, she didn’t see them coming.

~~~ 

Sveilrun’s body felt heavy and boneless, as if she hadn’t slept in years. She could recognize a painful throbbing behind her eyes and could hear the ground shift as if she were being dragged along it, but that was all. Everything felt as if it were suffering from extreme fatigue, and even just moving a finger seemed like an impossible task. When she finally did try to move, she found herself bound somehow and unable to do anything but wriggle underneath whatever held her. It wasn't for another few minutes until she was able to crack open her eyelids. She could see two bodies being dragged along next to her through blurry eyes. The two bodies were covered head to toe in some kind of semi-transparent white material, but she could faintly see a head of dark brown hair and a head of blond hair through the odd stuff that bound the two people. In Sveilrun’s confused state, she let out a muffled, “Ronan? Favian?” before succumbing to another unconscious state.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Any comments or constructive criticism would be helpful!


	5. Ronan and Favian

“Veili!” A young voice called out, catching the attention of the young woman whom they were calling. Two young boys ran towards a much younger Sveilrun; one boy, the elder of the two, had shaggy blond hair that fell in front of his face and bright brown eyes, and the other much shorter boy had dark brown hair that was just as messy as his elder brothers.

“Ronan stole my rabbit again!” The younger boy, Favian, wailed with a long pout jutting out his bottom lip, clutching onto the female skin-changer’s leg and looking up at Sveilrun with tear filled blue eyes. 

“I did not!” Ronan yelled back with an embarrassed flush burning his cheeks, “I didn’t touch his stupid rabbit!”

Favian, who couldn’t have been older than five, buried his face in the back of Sveilrun’s leg and let out a whine that was muffled in Sveilrun’s dress, “Veili, he won't give it back!”

“I said I didn’t take it!” Ronan shouted, “He’s not listening to me!”

Sveilrun sighed and picked up the small boy that had shoved his face in the skin-changers legs, perching him onto her hip, and said in a soft voice, “Maybe your rabbit is just playing a game with you, Favian, I bet if you go look around the juneberries you’ll find him hiding?”

The young boy sniffled, the long pout remaining, but asked, “Think so?”

“Hey, you’re talking to me,” Sveilrun teased, “Am I ever wrong?”

A small smile pressed at the younger boy’s face and he shook his head, “No. Thank you, Veili!”

“You’re welcome,” Sveilrun replied and set the small boy back onto his feet, brushing her hand over his head to move is hair from his eyes, “Now go find your rabbit, he’s probably missing you.”

The smaller boy nodded before trotting off towards the berry picking spot. The elder boy, who couldn't be older than ten, stayed for a moment and asked in a hushed voice, “Did father take his rabbit again?”

Sveilrun nodded before saying, “I managed to snatch it before he could destroy it and hid it where Favian can find it easily. Don’t let him see Favian with his rabbit again, you know how he can get.”

“Why don’t you just let him take the dumb rabbit?” Ronan grumbled, “It’s not worth the effort-”

“Go find your brother, Ronan,” Sveilrun said, the hint of a growl on her tone, “Make sure he doesn’t get into any more trouble.”

Ronan dropped his eyes to the ground, his cheeks burning again in embarrassment and shame from getting scolded by his older sister, but nodded compliantly. Sveilrun sent him a thankful smile, and brushed her hand over his head similarly to the way she had the youngest of the three siblings, pushing away the hair that fell in front of his eyes.

“What would I do without you?” Sveilrun asked with a teasing tone.

A cheeky smirk spread on the young boy’s face and he shrugged, “Go crazy, crash and burn, something like that.”

Sveilrun shook her head at the blond skin-changer, but a giving smile pulled at her lips, “I think I would be much worse than that without you and Favian to keep me company.”

~~~

The next time Sveilrun awoke, she was still bound tightly in some form of sticky, almost string-like material. She could barely see anything around her, just a blurry array of colours and shapes. She could faintly pick up different sounds coming from all around her; an odd clicking sound she had never heard before, and the light steps of many feet. The trapped skin-changer could see many large shapes moving all around her, but she couldn’t see them clearly enough to make out what they are until a sudden realization hits her. Many steps, sticky, string like material, and the cocoon like contraption that the material has trapped her in. Spiders. Even worse, giant spiders. And if she’s the one in the cocoon, that makes her dinner. 

Sveilrun quickly found a newfound reason to thrash and twist against the web that clings to her form, pushing herself to her limit as she fought against her bindings. She only stops when she spots a small form running towards her, a flash of a blade, and suddenly she was falling. The woman could feel her stomach do flips as she fell to the ground. Her descent was thankfully slowed by a series of cobwebs, but not enough as she felt the wind get knocked from her lungs as she slammed onto the forest floor. She could faintly see and hear others all around her, in the same webby predicament as her, and she began fighting against the disgusting material once again.

The shape-changer could faintly hear what sounded like one of the dwarves say, “Come help Sveilrun, she looks stuck,” and felt a growl form in her chest.

Sveilrun quickly managed to shimmy her arm up near her face before clawing upward, breaking through the thick webbing. After that she went berserk, using her hands and nails to shred the webbing open and convulsing her body until she was finally free. By the time she was up on her feet, she was panting heavily and her hair was in a tangled mess around her face. The dwarves stood around her and watched with wide eyes.

“Nevermind then,” Gloin muttered, “I think the lass has it.”

Sveilrun huffed angrily, pushing her hair back out of her face, and after counting out all of the dwarves asked, “Where’s Bilbo?”

All of the dwarves look around thinking the same thing, and one calls out, “Bilbo!”

“I’m up here!” The hobbit’s voice suddenly called out from above the group.

Just as he called, one of the large spiders jumped out at Bilbo from underneath the branch he had been standing on, pinning him down. But Bilbo managed to lift his sword just in time and stabbed the large beast right through its stomach. The spider's legs curled around Bilbo’s body as it died, and when it fell from the branch it dragged Bilbo along with it. Sveilrun moved to try and help the halfling, but was stopped as more spiders surrounded her and the dwarves. The dwarves quickly took on a defensive formation, all of their various weapons raised at the ready. Noticing that Sveilrun did not carry a weapon, Thorin quickly leaped forward to grab onto her arm and tug her back so she stood in the middle of the dwarves. But Sveilrun was not one to act as the damsel in distress, and immediately picked up a rather large branch that lay on the ground to wield as a weapon. She quickly went forward, ignoring Thorin’s calls of warning, and used the branch to smash in the head of an approaching spider, letting it slump onto the ground. Thorin didn’t try and stop her from fighting after that. Bombur ended up knocked down, a monstrous spider posed and ready to feast on the large dwarf.

“Grab a leg!” Sveilrun shouted to the dwarves, and rushed forward to help.

A couple of dwarves rushed in and grabbed onto the spider’s long, hairy legs, pulling until they ripped from the spider’s body. It dropped down onto Bombur, dying almost instantly. Sveilrun quickly pushes the spiders torso off of Bombur, and with great effort, helped the dwarf stand to his feet. The moment they were back up on their feet, the battle recommenced all around them. It was as Sveilrun knocked the legs out from under one of the eight-legged beasts that she saw the youngest of the dwarven princes get latched onto by one of the spiders. Having only seen a flash of dark brown hair, without thinking Sveilrun cried out, “Favian!” before running to Kili’s aid. 

More spiders fell from the trees on long strands of silken web, blocking Sveilrun from her path to the distressed dwarf. The skin-changer and dwarves raised whatever weapons they possessed and prepared for another fight, but stopped at the sudden appearance of a blonde elf. The elf, who Sveilrun was disappointed to have been acquainted with once before, ran through the treetops towards the company. He swung himself down one of the spider’s long stand of web and landed on it, swiftly killing it before moving onto the next one. Once completed he turned on the dwarves, pointing his drawn bow at Thorin. Many other of the Mirkwood elves appeared around the group of dwarves, following the blonde elf’s lead and pointing their drawn arrows at the group.

A silent growl rolled through Sveilrun’s throat at the sight of the blonde elf, Legolas, but she managed to hold herself back as there was an arrow aimed at her chest.

“Do not think I won’t kill you, dwarf,” Legolas practically sneered at the dwarf king, “It would be my pleasure.”

The dwarves were easily outnumbered by the elves, who held them still at the threat of being shot down by one of their arrows. It was only Kili’s scream for help that broke the tense atmosphere settled around them. The spider that had latched onto Kili had begun to quickly drag him across the earth floor by his foot, and he thrashed and kicked against its hold. No one in the company could leave the elven formation to help the dwarven prince, but luckily a female elf managed to shoot down the spider with her bow. Once Kili was once again safe and returned to his fellow dwarves, Legolas looked to the elves and ordered, “Search them.”

One of the elves approached Sveilrun and roughly ripped the wolf’s harness from around the woman’s waist, making her snarl at them, her eyes flashing a brilliant gold. The elf took a quick step back and drew his dagger out, afraid the wolf-woman may attack him, but when she made no move to attack he continued his search of her belongings. Unclasping her bags attached to the harness, he quickly rifled through her belongings and couldn't help but scoff. Turning over the bag, he dumped her possessions onto the forest floor. From the saddlebag fell a child’s toy - a worn looking rabbit, a wooden kalimba, a long rope with a pouch on the end, and it was all wrapped in a thick wool blanket. Sveilrun’s lips pulled back in a snarl and she shouted at the elf, “Some of that is older than you are, show some respect!”

The skin-changer’s outburst called everyone’s attention to her, but she ignored them as she leaned over to pick it all up and wrap it securely in the wool blanket. 

“What have you found?” Legolas asked, walking to the other elf’s side.

“I don’t know what possible use any of this could have,” The elf soldier spouted, “The only useful things in here are clothing.”

Legolas, who had seen the objects fall from the bag, merely raised an unimpressed brow before turning to Sveilrun. Recognition flashed through his eyes followed quickly by the twitch of an arrogant smirk.

“Sveilrun of the volatile wolves,” Legolas greeted, “My father should be quite pleased to see you.”

Sveilrun held her tongue, but kept her head high and didn’t let her eyes, which were still glowing a brilliant yellow, waver from the elf’s. It was only when the elf looked away first that they broke eye contact, and Sveilrun let a short triumphant huff leave her. Even if his kind didn't register breaking eye contact as a sign of submissivity, hers did, and she would stare him down for days if she had to just to prove a point. Once Legolas had walked away, she snatched her bag back from the elf who had taken it and glared at him with such ferocity that he was forced to back up a few steps and look away from the woman. She carefully placed the blanketed possessions back into the saddlebag, making sure it settled down comfortably before clasping it shut and attaching the harness around her waist - similarly as she would a belt.

One of the elves approach Legolas and hand him the blade that Thorin had been using. The blonde elf looked over the sword with a calculating gaze, searching every indent and crevice the blade held.

“Echannen i vegil hen vin Gondolin,” Legolas spoke in his native tongue, “Magannen nan Gelydh.” 

Sveilrun could pick up some of the elvish words, but her knowledge of the language was dwindling and she had a hard time stringing the words together. She understood his last sentence, ‘Forged by my kin,’ and pieced together that he was speaking of the swords origins.

“Where did you get this?” Legolas asked Thorin, this time not in elvish.

“It was given to me,” Thorin replied.

Legolas pointed the tip of the elvish sword at Thorin and hissed, “Not just a thief, but a liar as well.”

Turning back to the elf soldiers, Legolas commanded, “Enwenno hain!” 

Sveilrun didn’t need to understand elvish to know what that meant, as the soldiers immediately followed as they were ordered and began to escort the company away. Sveilrun kept close to Fili, Kili, and Thorin as they were lead through Mirkwood towards the Woodland Realm, sending glares and hissed threats to any who stepped too close. Legolas ignored any and all of the skin-changer’s threats, but the soldiers weren’t so brave and would sometimes flinch or step further away. 

As they were being lead away, Bofur turned to Thorin and whispered to the dwarf king, “Thorin, where’s Bilbo?”

Thorin and Sveilrun both looked around, but Bilbo was nowhere to be seen. Sveilrun’s brows pinched together in confusion, how could he just disappear? Had one of the spiders caught the hobbit? She had no time to dwell upon such questions as they had their own problems to deal with. The company and elves soon reached a stunning, tall bridge that led to towering gates. Sveilrun felt immense dread dropping in her stomach like a rock as they passed through the entrance and the gates were closed behind them.

The subterranean cavern that made up the Woodland Realm was built almost entirely of ginormous tree roots. They walked along a thin, winding, walkway that was raised from the ground. Sveilrun could remember the last time she had entered the seemingly unending cavern, and had hoped to never enter again. The elves split apart the company; Thorin and Sveilrun were taken to see the King of Mirkwood while the others were supposedly sent to the prison cells.

Thorin and Sveilrun were forcibly lead towards where the king’s throne would sit. The rock that was dread resting in the skin-changer’s stomach turned into a mountain. She could practically feel the blood rush from her face, leaving her a pale mess, but she tried her best not to let it show. Unfortunate for her, her eyes deceived her as they glowed a brilliant yellow. It was still daylight, and she knew that this was the wrong form to be in. She was not supposed to be a woman now, she was supposed to be a wolf. The wolf would keep her safe and hidden away. The old mantra that had embedded itself into her baser subconscious began to play; ‘don’t let them see you in the daytime, it’s too dangerous.’ The woman could be killed far easier, and she felt a flurry of fear rise in her chest. She felt as if bugs were crawling beneath her skin, begging to be released, and she couldn’t help but start scratching at her forearm as if that might relieve her discomfort. She only stopped when she felt a hand clasp onto her’s. She looked to her side and found Thorin watching her with confused, and almost concerned, eyes. Sveilrun looked away from the dwarf king, not wanting to appear weak and pulled her hand from his. Now was not the time to lose her right mind.

Perched on a throne surrounded by stag antlers, looking even more arrogant than his son, was the King of Mirkwood, Thranduil. He stood with an annoying amount of poise, looking completely unbothered by the dwarf king and skin-changer’s sudden appearance - the only indicator of his true emotions being the slight excited glint in his pale eyes - and looked down his nose at the two prisoners.

With a tone that made Sveilrun wonder if he had practiced in front of a looking-glass first, Thranduil spoke to the dwarf king, “Some may imagine that a noble quest is at hand. A quest to reclaim a homeland and slay a dragon. I myself suspect a more prosaic motive: attempted burglary, or something of that ilk.”

Thranduil stepped close enough to Thorin to make even Sveilrun uncomfortable and continued, “You have found a way in. You seek that which would bestow upon you the right to rule: the King’s Jewel, the Arkenstone. It is precious to you beyond measure. I understand that. There are gems in the mountain that I too desire. White gems of pure starlight. I offer you my help.”

Thorin looked up at the elf king with hooded eyes that spoke of his poorly hidden anger and replied, “I am listening.”

“I will let you go, if you but return what is mine,” Thranduil explain before his gaze landed Sveilrun, “Along with your skin-changer.”

Sveilrun felt a growl rise in her chest, but was stopped by Thorin asking in a voice with hidden ferocity, “And why would you want her?”

Thranduil’s blue eyes never left the woman before him as he replied with a venomous hiss, “She was my prisoner once before and was never given permission to leave. I simply want what is mine returned to me.”

“A favor for a favor,” Thorin replied, turning from the elf king and pacing a few slow steps away, but his angry tone never left. Sveilrun was left to look at the dwarf king from the corner of her eye, not sure what he could be thinking.

“You have my word,” Thranduil practically purred, thinking the dwarf king was being persuaded by his words, “One king to another.”

Still turned away, Thorin raised his voice to a booming level as if he wished all of the Woodland Realm to hear his words, “I would not trust Thranduil, the great king, to honor his word should the end of all days be upon us!”

Sveilrun was a little taken back by Thorin’s sudden change in demeanor, and apparently so was the elf king. Thorin spun around and pointed at Thranduil, saying in an even louder voice that made the very air shake, “You lack all honor! I’ve seen how you treat your friends. We came to you once, starving, homeless, seeking your help, but you turned your back. You turned away from the suffering of my people and the inferno that destroyed us!”

In his native tongue, Thorin practically spat at the elf king, “Imrid amrad ursul!” 

“Do not talk to me of dragon fire,” Thranduil hissed as he leapt from where he was to stand face to face with Thorin, “I know its wrath and ruin. I have faced the great serpents of the north.”

As he spoke, Thranduil’s face began to distort to show monstrous burns that crawl across his skin until they cover almost half of his face. One of his eyes turn a murky, unseeing blue, but just as his features become truly horrifying, the burns vanish and he returns to his original state. With even more of a malicious hiss to his tone, he turned to Sveilrun and spoke, “And do not think that you can keep the skin-changer from me a second time. I will confirm the end to her wretched bloodline even if I have to keep her locked away for all eternity!”

Fear pulsed in Sveilrun’s chest as the elf king’s face slowly got closer and closer to hers until she could see nothing but him, and she reacted in the only way she knew how. She punched him. Without thinking, her fist flew into the elf king’s face, producing a sickening crunch as she felt some his his bone crack beneath her knuckles. Sveilrun was barely allowed the satisfaction of Thranduil’s pained yelp, along with the complete shock on Thorin’s face, before she felt herself tackled to the floor by one of the elf guards. Something sharp stung into the side of her neck, and within moments the world became dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Any comments or constructive criticism would be much appreciated!


	6. Into the Dungeon

“Sveilrun!” Thorin shouted as an elf guard tackled the skin-changer to the ground and stabbed something into the side of her neck. A different guard stepped forward and grabbed onto the dwarf king to stop him from going to the woman’s aid. 

Thranduil stumbled back to his feet, raising his head up high and looking down upon the unconscious woman with disgust. Wiping away a sliver of blood on the corner of his mouth, the elf king practically spat at the woman, “Nadorhuan, amin feuya ten' lle.” 

With just the motion of the elf king’s hand, more guards appear and lift the skin-changer up to pack her away, “Take them both to the dungeon and chain her to the wall, I don’t need the savage beast escaping once again. Place Oakenshield in the same cell as the skin-changer, let him see what kind of a monster he decided to bring along.”

As the guards hauled away the two prisoners, Thranduil exclaimed behind them, “Stay here if you will, and rot. A hundred years is a mere blink in the life of an elf. I am patient. I can wait.”

The guards roughly shoved Thorin along, dragging him and the unconscious skin-changer along towards the dungeons where the rest of the dwarves were being kept. The guards dragged Sveilrun into the cell first; two holding up each of her arms while a third shackled her wrists to the side of the cavern cell. Her body slumped down once they let her go, her arms straining upwards because of the shackles attached to her wrists. There was a short length of chain between the cell wall and the shackles, so she could move her arms slightly once she awoke, but not very much. Thorin was shoved into the cell after Sveilrun, the guards locking the cell door behind them, and turned to look out through the bars at the other dwarves. 

Balin called from a few cells away, “Did he offer you a deal?”

Thorin called back, “He did. I told him he could go ‘Ish kakhfe ai’d dur rugnu!’ - him and all his kin!”

Balin closed his eyes in frustration at the dwarf king, “Well . . . that’s it, then. A deal was our only hope. What did they do to the lass? Is she alright?”

Thorin turned to see the skin-changer shift in her drowsed state, her eyebrows creasing in pain. Thorin called out the barred doors, “I think she’ll be fine, she punched Thranduil in the face.”

From the other side of his cell, Fili called out, “She punched the Elf King!?”

“Apparently they've met before,” Thorin muttered, and turned back to face the sleeping skin-changer. Many questions floated around his head, but the most prominent one was for what Thranduil had said; ‘let him see what kind of a monster he decided to bring along.’

~~~

Sveilrun’s head spun terribly. She could barely tell which way was up and which was down, but after a few moments of confusion she managed to grasp onto some form of coordination. When she cracked open one of her brown eyes, a bright light met her and she lifted her hand as a shield. Once her eyes adjusted, she found herself staring out across the valley that spread out before the Withered Heath. A thin layer of frost covered the grass and the trees before her, a pleasant chill settling over her skin, and her breaths came out in white puffs of mist. She couldn’t find the will to move and instead stared out into the sky that had permanently imbedded itself into her memories, watching the sun settle behind the distant mountain, Erebor. An array of colours danced across the sky as the sun set behind the distant mountain range. A single word thrummed against her chest and brought along a wave of comfort and longing; home.

“Stare any longer and the day will pass,” the clear ring of a woman’s voice laughed. 

The familiar touch of a feminine hand rested atop her head, gently brushing at her strands of dark hair. Sveilrun felt her throat catch as her gaze flew to the woman next to her and found mirroring honey brown eyes looking down at her. The woman standing next to the skin-changer had blonde hair that was tied back in a beautifully fashioned braid, but even with the intricate knots keeping it in place, strands of hair managed to stick out at odd angles. Her face was soft and kind spoken, and her light eyes revealed nothing but the most deepest of affections. Wrapped in her arms was a child, barely months old, with the same soft blond hair. The child was asleep, snuggled comfortably in layers of blanket and hide to keep out the frosted chill, but Sveilrun already knew that if he opened his eyes she would find bright brown orbs staring back at her. Sveilrun suddenly felt very young.

“Mum?” The skin-changer asked tentatively, afraid that if she did any more than everything would crumble and disappear. 

“Come along, dear, your father is waiting,” the woman spoke, taking the young girl’s hand in her own and leading her down one of the stone pathways that zig-zagged across the mountain.

Sveilrun didn’t protest, nor speak, instead she reveled in the comfort that such a simple touch could bring her and clasped onto the woman’s hand as if it were a lifeline. In that moment there wasn’t any war. There wasn’t any suffering, or loss. She was still innocent to the hardships of the world and her mother was still by her side. The warmth alone that spread from her hand was enough to bring the emotionless skin-changer to tears. She felt the warm trails slide down her cheeks before she felt the burning sensation in her eyes as her vision blurred. In that moment, everything was fine.

But then it ended.

~~~

The first sensation that greeted Sveilrun in her return to consciousness was a biting pain in both of her wrists and stiff muscles in her arms. She groaned in frustration, willing herself back to sleep if only to see her dream world for just a moment. When the crushing realization that she wouldn’t be able to find sweet unconsciousness once again hit her, she forced open her eyes and found the gaze of Thorin Oakenshield watching her. Now she jolted awake, her head coming up quickly and her arms moving forward. Her arms screamed in protest from her jerky movements and she felt herself being restrained back by something. She pushed herself up on shaky legs, using the wall behind her for support, and found her arms chained and shackled to the very wall that provided her stability.

“No,” Sveilrun murmured, yanking on one of the shackles, and finding it secured tightly to the wall, “No, no, no.”

Sveilrun yanked on it again, harder than last time, and felt the already scarred skin of her wrists begin to wear. The skin-changer’s heart began to beat violently against her ribcage. Panic seeped into her veins as she tried again and again to rip herself free from her restraints. Her breaths came out in uneven pants as if all of the air had been sucked out of the room, and a sweeping dizziness took her over. The small cell spun around her, and suddenly just standing up seemed like an impossible task.

“What’s wrong with you?” Sveilrun could faintly hear someone ask her, but any hope of response was lost on her. 

The world around her spun and distorted horribly; one moment she would be standing in a cave cell, and the next she would be in wolf form in an Orc prison. The orc prison that filled her gaze was dark and cold, as if the sun itself had abandoned that section of the land, and a whole new brand of fear spread through the woman. Even her wolf eyes that let her see in almost any darkness couldn’t see through this. She could only make out the shadows of bodies moving around her, hunched over and distorted. And then she would feel pain. Horrible, agonizing pain that felt like it would never end. The kind of pain that brought on cries and pleads from even the strongest and proudest of men, and it wasn’t only her screams that rang through her ears, it was the dying pleads of her kin. And when the darkness cleared the pale orc stood above her. A scream ripped itself from her throat and she threw herself against her restraints until her bones creaked in protest and she could feel warm blood drip from her wrists.

Thorin was not prepared for the blood curdling shriek that fell from Sveilrun’s lips. The woman pulled against her shackles violently, her breaths coming out in hiccuped huffs, and he could see a hint of crimson drip from underneath the metal shackles. Rushing forward, he grabbed onto the sides of her face and brought her head up to look at her. The skin-changers eyes were unfocused and looked right through him. He felt a newfound fear rise in his chest for the safety of the woman; he didn’t know what to do, he didn’t know how to help her. He could distantly hear the shouts of the worried company, asking what was happening and if Sveilrun was alright, but he didn’t know how to respond.

Suddenly, the skin-changer’s eyes flashed to a blinding pale yellow. All movement stopped as her unfocused pupils began to expand, smothering out the pale yellow until her entire eye was consumed by an inky darkness. 

And then with no warning, the woman lunged at the dwarf king, forcing him to back away. Sveilrun’s lips pulled back in an animalistic and wordless snarl to show off pointed, inhuman teeth that spoke of her ferocity. If her fights against her shackles seemed violent before, than she was completely berserk now. She threw herself forward over and over again, not because she wanted free, but because there was lone prey trapped before her. She lost all sense of her mind as the wolf took over completely, and fought to kill any and everything in sight. Sveilrun felt as if she were watching what was happening from far away, and had no control over herself as she watched the monstrous woman fight to slaughter the dwarf king. The enraged beast turned its attention to her right arm; she wrapped her hand around the chain that connected her shackle to the cell wall and pulled. She pulled until her face began to turn red and her muscles practically screamed in protest, but soon a large crack split through the stone of the cell. Moments after the crack appeared the chain split apart and one hand was freed, but Thorin noticed that the wrist and arm that had been freed were now horribly bruised and a large purple welt was already forming. A satisfied, yet still animalistic, grin spread across the skin-changer’s lips as she turned to her next arm. Alarmed, Thorin shouted with a booming voice that could be heard even from the cell furthest from theirs, “Sveilrun, what do you think you’re doing!? You’re going to rip your damned arms off!”

And that was all it took. Within second the darkness cleared from Sveilrun’s eyes and the woman slumped down onto the floor. Her breaths turned to hungry gulps as if she had run to the Shire and back, and the darkness that had consumed her eyes disappeared until they were back to light brown. Her free hand clenched at her chest as she took a moment to collect herself; she had only ever lost control of herself like that twice in all of her years of living, and she felt an incredible amount of shame for losing herself like that - especially in front of Thorin. Unbeknown to the skin-changer, Thorin was not disgusted or angry to see such a display as she might think, instead he just felt concern. He remembered what she had said about her scars, that wolves can’t stand to be imprisoned, and was more than anything concerned that the woman may hurt herself more than she already had. Without afterthought, Thorin approached the woman who sat practically huddled in the corner, her left arm still raised because of the shackle locking her to the wall. She didn’t meet his eyes, and kept her flickering gaze trained on the floor in front of her, her free hand absently brushing against the saddlebag on her side as if to bring herself comfort.

“Have you calmed down?” Thorin asked with a much quieter voice than the one he used before, so that no one outside of the cell may hear.

Sveilrun nodded her head, keeping her gaze lowered in embarrassment, and clutched her free but injured hand closer to her chest. Thorin sighed before dropping onto the floor of the cell next to her, “You may be strong enough to pull a chain from solid rock, but you’re a terrible liar.”

Sveilrun’s head whipped to look over at the dwarf king, her eyebrows pressed together in confusion and slight frustration. Wordlessly, Thorin held out his hand expectantly. With great hesitance, only sped along by the dwarf’s pointed stare, she tentatively put her injured hand in his. He examined the bruises and cuts along her wrist and forearm, his blue eyes narrowing on the self-inflicted damage. Pulling a spare piece of worn cloth from his pocket, he carefully pushed the shackle slightly further up her forearm so he could properly see the injury, and tied the cloth around the bruised and cut area.

“How often does that happen?” Thorin asked the skin-changer with a voice that could be mistaken as sounding absent-minded, but Sveilrun could see his eyes evaluating her every move. 

Sveilrun lifted her chin in whatever pride she could find after the previous display, “Rarely.”

The dwarf king merely raised a single brow in question, and the skin-changer elaborated, “Twice, ever. That one was . . . minor in comparison to the last.”

“That was minor?” Thorin couldn’t help the slight scoff in his tone, “I thought you were going to rip off your hand trying to escape.”

Sveilrun didn’t know how to respond to that. The last time it had happened was over five centuries ago, and when she was done there was nothing within a ten mile radius that was still alive. The fact that she hadn’t killed, or at least attacked the dwarf king left her grateful, but very confused. The long ancestral line of the wolf skin-changer’s prided themselves in being the ones with the clearest minds in animal form- even reaching the point of being able to have conversations unlike the bear skin-changers. Unfortunately on the rare occasion that they managed to lose complete control of their temper they turned volatile, and would kill and destroy anything within sight. It was a rare moment when a skin-changer who had lost control could be reasoned with or stopped. Usually they could only ever be calmed by those they were closest to. Sveilrun almost scoffed at the idea of ever being close to the dwarf king; emotionally or otherwise.

Finally she managed to respond, “They can be much worse. It’s not a trait I take any delight in having.”

Sveilrun pulled her hand away from his, briefly looking over the cloth wrapped securely around her wrist, before standing up on still shaky legs. Taking a deep breath, she wrapped her still trapped hand around the chain and gave it a testing tug. It was set into the solid rock, and didn’t look as if it would budge any time soon, but then again, so did the other one. She gave another tug, harder this time, but again it didn’t give and she could already feel the shackle begin to wear down on her scarred wrist.

“What are you doing now?” Thorin grumbled, standing to his feet as well, “You nearly broke something getting the other hand free, and you want to do it again?”

Sveilrun scoffed, “I’m not giving Thranduil or any other elf the pleasure of seeing me in this wretched state. I'd rather risk a limb or two.”

The skin-changer pulled again, this time digging her heels into the corner to use her weight as leverage, and she could faintly hear the shifting creaks through the metal and stone. She stopped, huffing angrily and stretched her trapped arm slightly against the discomfort.

“Thranduil,” Thorin said as a sudden thought occurred to him, “He said you escaped once before.”

“That I did,” Sveilrun replied absentmindedly, barely listening as she tried to think of an easier way to free herself.

“How?” Thorin asked impatiently.

“A guard walked too close to my cell,” Sveilrun replied, “They won’t make the same mistake this time.”

“You pickpocketed the guard?”

“I snapped his neck,” The skin-changer murmured, once again not paying attention as she used both arms to pull heartedly against the chains before pausing again to catch her breath, “then I pickpocketed him.”

“No wonder Thranduil ordered you to be chained,” Thorin grumbled.

Thorin watched as Sveilrun gave a loud groan of frustration as she pulled at the chain, before stopping and taking a moment to collect herself. 

“You’re not going to be able to get that off,” Thorin told the aggravated skin-changer.

“You want to make a bet?” Sveilrun challenged, glaring at the dwarf over her shoulder.

“Fine,” Thorin agreed, folding his arms, “What are the stakes?”

“If I manage to get free than I get the bedroll, and you have to sleep on the stone,” Sveilrun instantly replied, already knowing what she wanted.

Thorin paused for only a second before agreeing; she only managed to get the first one free because of her sudden loss of control, this time won’t be so easy.

“Back up to the opposite corner,” She ordered before turning back to the trapped hand.

Thorin did as she said, only able to take a few steps before his shoulder bumped the opposite wall, but still asked, “What are you doing?”

Sveilrun didn’t answer, and instead closed her eyes and took a few slow breaths. When she opened her eyes again she looked at her trapped hand, as if evaluating it, before taking another deep breath. Thorin understood why she told him to back up when she pulled back her arm and shoulder as far back as she could before letting her fist fly into the wall. There was a sickening crunch and snap, followed by a sharp cry as the skin-changer broke her own hand. Sveilrun hissed in a gulp of air, tears pricking at her eyes as her broken hand throbbed painfully, but with the broken and fractured bones she was able to slip her hand through the shackle and to freedom.

“What in Durin’s name is wrong with you!?” Thorin’s voice bellowed through the small cell.

“Hand’s free,” Sveilrun grimaced, her breath coming out in quick pants against the pain, and held onto her broken hand, “Besides, next part hurts more.” 

“Next p-?”

Another stomach-rolling crunch filled the cell, being heard even by the other company members, followed by a string of muffled curses and blasphemies. Sveilrun had forcefully set the broken bones back into place. She leaned against the wall as she looked over her injured hand; dark splotches of purple were already spreading across her skin and it was beginning to swell along the knuckles. She hissed more curses underneath her breath, ripping a piece of cloth from her cloak to wrap around her hand. She had extreme difficulties wrapping her injury with only one hand, but Thorin quickly stepped in and took the cloth from her. He tied it the cloth on with a jerking tug, making the skin-changer hiss under her breath, and shook his head at her stupidity. 

“That was beyond reckless,” Thorin growled out angrily.

“Perhaps,” Sveilrun nodded, “but I’m not longer chained, and I get the bedroll. Besides, it will heal.”

“Because you’re an expert on broken bones?” Thorin asked sarcastically, not hiding his distaste in the woman’s act.

“Yes,” the wolf-woman replied without a moment’s hesitation, “I have been injured many times, I know what I can and cannot heal.”

Thorin looked up, briefly shocked at her answer, but had no time to respond as Kili’s voice filled the dungeon’s cavern, “What’s going on!?”

Dwalin’s voice followed, “If either of you are dead you’re going to be sorry!”

The skin-changer and dwarf king answered at the same time; 

“Everything’s fine!”

“She broke her hand!”

Sveilrun glared at Thorin, “You didn’t need to tell them, I’m fine.”

“You screamed loud enough to wake the dead,” Thorin retorted, “It didn’t exactly sound ‘fine’.”

Sveilrun narrowed her eyes at the dwarf king, “As would you if your hand was broken.”

“You broke your own hand!” Thorin shouted, “For a bedroll!”

“You questioned whether or not I could free myself and I proved you wrong!” Sveilrun retaliated, her voice rising to his volume, “And I’m not sharing a bedroll with a big brute like you!” 

Faintly the two could hear Balin from another cell exclaim, “They’ve been together for all of twenty minutes and they’re already at eachother’s throats.”

“Veili’s already managed to hurt herself,” Sveilrun could hear Kili snicker from the cell next to her’s.

A weight settled in the skin-changer’s stomach, any argument she had against Thorin dying, and for a moment she had to fight against the bile rising in her throat. A string of memories tied to that name threatened to spill over the forefront of her mind, and somehow that caused the skin-changer more pain than any broken bone. Thorin stopped his argument as well when he saw the blood completely drain from the woman’s face, and stared at her perplexed.

“Veili?” a voice that sounded like Bofur asked, confused by the name.

“Her name is hard to say. Besides, Veili sounds much better,” Kili reasoned, which earned a few muffled agreements.

Wordlessly, Sveilrun moved to the bedroll and flopped down, turning her back to the dwarf, “I’m tired of arguing. Try and be quiet, I’m a light sleeper.”

Thorin didn’t respond, the argument already lost on him, and stared at the skin-changers back. He was confused by her sudden change in demeanor, she didn’t seem like the type to give up in the middle of an argument- even a childish one. Something about the name bothered her, and he had the sudden need to know what. There were many things he did not know about Sveilrun, and he had a sudden need to learn it all but he didn’t know why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I would love any reviews or constructive criticism you have to offer!


	7. A Long Day in Prison

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be completely honest this is a bit of a filler chapter for me, it's not my favourite chapter but I promise the next will be more exciting!

Sveilrun never slept as she laid on the single bedroll in the stone-carved cell. With her broken hand throbbing, daylight still looming over the land, and the constant noise coming from the party of dwarves, sleep was not looking like an option. The only reason she stayed there, with her eyes closed and in taking deep breaths to feign sleep, was so that she would not get into another pointless argument with Thorin. She was confused by the dwarf; he made many emotions - mostly anger - come over her much more easily than she liked. Before that she spent her days in a near constant state feeling basic appeasement; she was not happy nor unhappy with anything, and she had the company of animals to keep her from being lonesome. So why was it the sudden change in company made her feel so unbalanced? It was a thought that frightened her to say the least, but also brought upon a certain aspect of excitement. Sveilrun did not understand such things, but decided to make an effort in trying to. For now though, she was exhausted both mentally and physically and wanted to simply let her mind wander in between conscious states. 

Unfortunately things rarely went the way she wanted and she was not allowed the glorious state of which she seeked. Instead she was left with a terrible feeling in her stomach. Her internal clock told her that is was still daytime, the sun had yet to fall over the distant mountains, and so she was left with a feeling of terrible discomfort. She was not supposed to be in human form, this time was supposed to be taken by the wolf, but she couldn’t shift. There was barely any room in the cell, so being in wolf form would mean that she and Thorin would be rather cramped for space, and she would either have to sit against the wall or lie down. Worse than that, she couldn’t shift in front of Thorin. Shifting was an extremely sensitive ordeal, even more so than getting dressed in the morning, and her pride would never allow her to do something so private in front of the dwarf king. So she would be forced to live in her irritated state until darkness covered the land. 

In this moment of semi-peace, Sveilrun was given a chance to finally explore her thoughts. Earlier in Mirkwood before the spiders had attacked she had a moment where she almost blacked out and she still didn’t know why. The suddenness, and the complete overtake of her senses still boggled her. And for once she could actually smell the things around her. When skin-changers reach a certain age they lose their ability to smell. It was so that they could search for their intended ones and continue their bloodlines; only when they found the one they were to be mated to for life, and completed the bonding process, would their sense of smell return. Sveilrun never found her intended one when she still lived with her people in the mountain, and had assumed she never would. She always assumed he had died before her, or perhaps that there was no one created for her. She had asked her father as a child what it was like to find the scent of his intended one, and he had said that it was the best experience he ever had, so what happened in Mirkwood couldn’t possibly be that. Nothing about that was amazing, or great, it was awful and disorienting. Deciding that it was the forest playing tricks on her mind, Sveilrun pushed the memory aside. 

As Sveilrun laid in the darkened corner of the cell, her situation gradually became worse. The itchy, bugs-under-the-skin feeling grew and became like snakes slithering through her bones whispering venomous words of her discomfort. Her muscles spasmed and shifted painfully, begging to be in their proper form, and her eyes shined a bright golden.

‘Just a few more hours,’ she would repeat to herself, ‘Just a few more hours.’ 

She rolled onto her other side, hoping the different position would bring comfort, but it didn’t change in the slightest. Her eyes remained firmly shut, even when she could feel the dwarf king’s gaze roam over her, and she tried to act as if her movements were decided upon by her sleeping mind.

Thorin looked over when the skin-changer shifted onto her other side, but came to the conclusion that she was still asleep when her eyelids didn’t twitch or flutter open. He studied her face as she slept, he had not yet seen her with such an open expression; usually she was scowling, showing indifference, or was in wolf form which was even harder to read. She didn’t necessarily look happy, but she wasn’t frowning and no worry showed in her expression. She looked neutral. 

The dwarf was snapped from his thoughts when Sveilrun rolled over again and pulled her legs slightly closer to her chest. This time his eyes roamed to the saddlebag that she had placed next to herself before falling asleep. Curiosity shined in his eyes as he weighed the possibilities of getting caught snooping, and how mad she may be. While arguments may be a form of entertainment in the otherwise dull cell, he felt they had yelled at each other enough for one day.

Finally once his curiosity managed to beat the possible consequences, he reached forward and silently lifted the wolf harness. His blue eyes flickered between the sleeping woman and the clasp of the saddlebag as he slowly opened it. When Sveilrun made no sign of awakening any time soon, he continued and pushed open the flap of the bag. The moment his eyes peered down into the bag, a tight grip latched onto his hand making him jump. The wolf woman had rolled over and grabbed onto him in a second, and was staring at the dwarf with narrowed golden yellow eyes.

“What is it you hope to achieve by rifling through my things?” Sveilrun asked, her face no longer peacefully resting but set in a frown.

Thorin wasn’t sure how to answer for a moment but eventually replied, “A cure for my boredom.”

Sveilrun sat up with a sigh, removing her hand from Thorin’s wrist and taking her bag back. Instead of closing it and hiding her things away like Thorin suspected, she started to take things out. The wolf woman brought out a large woolen blanket and unwrapped it on the piece of stone floor between them. Inside rested a toy rabbit made of some kind of thick fabric, a wooden box with thin pieces of metal attached that Thorin had never seen before, and a long cord with a hide pouch on the end. After that she pulled out a few changes of clothing and a small dagger made from a stag’s jaw bone. The two objects that caught the dwarf king’s attention the most was the odd wooden box and the rabbit. 

“What is this?” Thorin asked, pointing at the box.

“It’s called a kalimba,” Sveilrun answered, picking it up with careful hands, “It’s a musical instrument, although not the most common.”

She lightly flicked her thumbs over a few of the thin metal pieces, making a high, clear sound. Just as soon as she began, she stopped and placed in back down. One mystery solved, one more to go.

“I do not understand how something like this could be helpful on a long journey,” Thorin stated, gesturing towards the toy rabbit. 

“Simply a cold comfort,” Sveilrun replied, picking up said toy and turning it over in her hands as she looked it over.

“Did it belong to someone?” Thorin asked, his eyes fixed on the woman.

She nodded in reply, her gaze fixed on the old and very battered rabbit, “It was my brothers.”

“What was his name?” the dwarf king asked, and noticed the slight change in the skin-changers expressions. She was beginning to guard herself.

“Favian,” She replied shortly, her tone changing from reminiscing to indifferent in the span of a second.

Thorin briefly remembered her shouting such a name when they were being attacked by the spiders, but saved that thought for another time. If he asked now he knew she would not give him the answer he wanted. 

Thorin’s gaze flickered to the cord and pouch, and he picked it up between two hesitant fingers. However, before he could open the pouches drawstrings, tight fingers clamped around his to stop his movements.

“I don’t think it wise to open that,” Sveilrun said, eyeing the bag with slight wariness, “You may not like what is inside.”

“Why?” Thorin asked hesitantly, his eyes narrowing on the bag.

Sveilrun slipped the pouch from his grip and lowered the cord around her neck so the pouch hung below her chest, “Do not worry over it, it is simply a talisman for speech in wolf form.”

Thorin made a noise of understanding at the back of his throat, but still watched the pouch with curious eyes. Sveilrun began to pack the few possessions away carefully, but stopped when Thorin asked, “What kind of music can be played on that instrument?”

Sveilrun paused her movements and asked with a hint of disbelief, “You want me to play it?”

“If you don’t mind,” Thorin replied, and moved back so he could lean against the stone wall of the cell with his legs crossed in front of him. He, along with all of the other dwarves, were bored and tired, and music could do them good to lift their lowered spirits.

“You realize my people’s music is different from yours?” Sveilrun asked, the disbelief still evident in her tone.

“If you don’t know how to play than you should just say so,” Thorin challenged good naturedly, and that was all it took to get a reaction from the skin-changer.

Sveilrun huffed and picked up the small wooden instrument, leaning against the opposite wall of Thorin, and looked over the small metal tines as a certain tune came to mind. She took a steadying breath as her thumbs began to dance across the thin strips of metal, only having to give them the lightest flick to emit the clear tune. She song she chose was fast paced, her thumbs switching between notes quickly, and rang throughout the dungeon. As she had stated, the music she played was extremely different in comparison to dwarf music, but it was no less lovely. It started off simple, but as she went along the song would twist and change, becoming more complex - or as complex as a song could become on such a small instrument - and her pace fastened until the sound was thrumming through the stone cells. Just as quickly as the song began, it ended with slow parting notes. Sveilrun set down the instrument, stretching her stiff, injured hand which had begun to cramp up.

Single clapping could be heard from another cell followed by Kili’s voice saying, “It’s a shame we haven’t any more instruments- we could make so much noise that the elves get annoyed into letting us go. Plus it’d be entertaining.”

Sveilrun couldn’t help but chuckle silently at the youngest dwarven prince’s attitude. Thorin’s lips quirked slightly in hints of a smile upon seeing the amusement flash across the skin-changers face.

“So you can play it,” Thorin teased, happy to have found the way to get to the skin-changer. She doesn’t like to be challenged.

“I’m happy you enjoyed it,” Sveilrun replied with the same tone, “It’s a song we played for fussy children - it only seemed suitable.”

Thorin couldn’t help but laugh at the skin-changers quick response. His laugh was contagious, and soon Sveilrun was having to muffle her own silent snicker. She had no idea what was funny about the scenario; they were locked in a cell controlled by a person they both held a deep hatred for, and escape did not look to be coming soon, but something in that moment seemed so comical that the both fell into a fit of pointless laughter.

“Great, first they’re screaming and now they’re laughing,” Dwalin grumbled from his cell.

“As long as they don’t kill one another, I don’t care what they’re doing,” Balin commented, earning a snort from his brother.

~~~

Soon the day wore into night, and Sveilrun was able to breathe a sigh of relief. The muscle spasms and sliding in her bones faded away and she could relax once again. All of the dwarves were relatively silent in their collective boredom; it was too soon for sleeping, but there was nothing that they could entertain themselves with. Sveilrun leaned against the wall opposite to the cell door and made a game of throwing pebbles through the cracks in the cell door. Unfortunately this was only entertaining for the first three throws and then she was once again plagued by boredom. 

Kili sighed and scuffed his boots against the stone floor before an idea came to him. Stepping up to the cell door, he called out toward Thorin and Sveilrun’s cell, “Veili, do you have any more of those stories?”

“Stories?” She questioned.

“You know, like the one about the lantern and the brothers,” Kili elaborated.

“Seriously?” Sveilrun muttered, “That was just a tale we tell children at moon festivals.”

“What are moon festivals?” Fili asked from a short ways away.

Sveilrun fumbled to find the right words, “It’s- well it’s a festival to honour the dead. We used to have them every month.”

“Than why are they called ‘moon’ festivals instead of death festivals?” another dwarf joined in the conversation, Gloin by the sounds of it.

“Because my people protect the moon after death,” Sveilrun explained slowly, feeling as if she were teaching the village pups all over again, “So our respects go to the moon who protects us in life.”

There was a range of confused murmurs coming from the dwarves before Kili asked, “What do you do during a moon festival?”

“Dance, sing, tell stories,” Sveilrun listed absentmindedly, “Light lanterns, eat food and drink.”

“Sounds like fun,” Fili commented.

“They were,” Sveilrun replied, a feeling of melancholy filling in her chest.

“We should have one!” Kili shouted from his cell, “We should have a moon festival!”

“In case you haven’t noticed,” Thorin grumbled at his nephew, “We’re in an elven dungeon.”

“Well not right now,” Kili reasoned, “Once we take back Erebor.”

“Sure,” Sveilrun had to stop herself from rolling her eyes, “If we ever manage to get out of this dungeon I’ll try and set up a moon festival.”

“C’mon Veili, what other stories do you have?” Kili sounded after another few minutes, leaning against the bars, “I’m bored.”

“Everyone is bored,” Sveilrun replied, “Don’t you have your own stories.”

“We all already know most of the dwarven tales,” Balin commented, “It would be nice to hear something new.”

Sveilrun sighed, banging her head back against the stone wall and took a moment to think to herself, “Fine I’ve got one.”

Clearing her throat, she began the story, “There was once a man village on the edge of a mountain. The man village had a selfish ruler who thought the village to be too small for his likes, so he began to take forest lands that didn’t belong to him for his people to build their homes on. This angered the creatures of the forest; they thought it unfair for their home to be ruined because of one man’s ambitions. One day, a small girl was travelling into the forest to visit her grandmother who lived in one of the cottages that had taken over forest lands. The child did not realized that she was being watched on her travels by a wolf. The wolf was angry, for it was his family that had been forced out of the forest by the grandmother’s home, but the wolf was also very clever. Instead of simply attacking the girl as most animals would, he approached the girl and introduced himself thinking to trick the girl out of the forest. But the man-child was unmannerly and disrespectful, thinking herself to be above the creatures of the forest. This angered the wolf further, but he left the girl to continue her travels.  
Unbeknown to the girl, the wolf was familiar with magics older than the forest itself. While she travelled down the winding path, the wolf ran ahead to her grandmother’s cottage. Imitating the voice of the young girl, the wolf was given entrance to the grandmother’s home. He used old magic to turn the old woman into the form of a wolf. When the child came upon the cottage, instead of finding her sickly grandmother she found an old wolf and the torn robes of the grandmother. Thinking that the beast had eaten the old woman, the child called for help, but it was too late as the bewitched wolf ate the child whole. When a hunter came upon the scene, it was too late to save the girl but he struck down the wolf, killing it with his axe. When the village heard what happened they grew fearful of the forest, and they pulled themselve back into the safety of the village. The clever wolf rejoiced and his family once again reigned over the forest lands. The end.”

There was a long, drawn out silence once the skin-changer finished her story. Even Thorin looked confused by her tale, and his eyebrows were pinched together in thought.

“I think you told it wrong,” Kili’s hesitant voice suddenly sounded.

“What? Of course I didn’t,” Sveilrun scoffed.

“No, I’m pretty sure you told it wrong,” another voice called, Bombur by the sound of it.

“No, I didn’t,” Sveilrun argued, “How would any of you know, it’s a skin-changer tale?”

“We have a similar one,” Thorin said, “But in our’s the girl and grandmother are fine and the wolf get’s killed by the huntsman.”

“That’s disgusting,” Sveilrun stated, folding her arms stubbornly.

“Your story killed a child, how is ours disgusting?” Thorin argued back.

“The child was disrespectful and imposing on the wolf’s territory,” Sveilrun responded, “He was protecting his family from the man village.”

“By killing an old woman and a child?” Thorin asked disbelievingly.

“He didn’t technically kill them,” Sveilrun responded, “He just gave them a means to their end.”

“And ours is still the disgusting one?” Thorin said again, “Your story killed a child.”

“Ah, well the peace and quiet was nice while it lasted,” They could just barely hear Balin’s voice say, “Now they’re arguing again.”

Thorin sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, “It’s been a long day, how about we all just go to sleep.”

His tone made it clear that it was not a suggestion but a command, and none of the dwarves argued. It had been a long day, and they were all exhausted just as Thorin had said. They all went to whatever form of bed was left in their cells and quickly fell into the abyss of their unconscious states. Sveilrun could hear as they each succumbed to sleep one by one, which was extremely obvious by the gradual volume of their snores. Thorin turned and made for the bedroll in the corner, but Sveilrun held up a hand and stopped him.

“I won the bed fair and square,” the skin-changer asserted, dropping herself on the side of the bed closest to the cave wall.

“You’re not honestly going to make me sleep on stone when it’s plenty big enough for us both,” Thorin grumbled, folding his arms over his chest.

“I honestly am,” Sveilrun claimed, matching his movements and folding her arms across her chest, “I don’t need to wake up in the morning smelling of dwarf.”

Thorin narrowed his eyes at the skin-changer, hoping to stare her down, but her glare was just as ferocious as his own. They glared daggers at each other for a few minutes until eventually Thorin lost his patience, and instead of backing down like Sveilrun hoped, he stomped forward and dropped down onto the extra space of the bedroll, lying down and turning his back to the woman.

Sveilrun’s glare was almost sharp enough to cut through the subject of her anger, but the dwarf king showed no mind. Images of shoving him off the bedroll and cursing at the dwarf king coursed through her mind, but her anger was not enough for her to retaliate against Thorin as exhaustion clouded her mind. Of course she wouldn’t quit without at least having the last word, and hissed at his back, “Gelek menu caragu rukhs” which roughly translated to, ‘you smell like orc dung,’ before rolling over so she didn’t have to see Thorin’s back and shimmied further away from him.

“Your dwarvish is terrible,” Thorin grumbled underneath his breath.

“Your dwarvish is terrible,” Sveilrun growled and kicked her foot back to hit the back of his his leg.

There was a pause of complete silence before Thorin asked, “What?”

“I don’t know, I’m tired! Leave me alone,” Sveilrun snapped, grabbing the edge of her cloak and wrapping it tighter around herself.

Sveilrun could feel the warmth practically radiating off of the dwarf behind her, and that just added to her anger and frustration. The stone cell was freezing to the touch, and the bed and her clothing weren’t providing much coverage against the biting cold. She pulled her knees up to her chest, which gave her some warmth, but hardly any. The clouds of pure exhaustion floated around her head, and despite the anger, frustration, and biting cold that she was feeling she slowly slipped into the darkness sleep provided. For the first time in many years, she managed to fall asleep in human form.

Thorin laid perfectly still on the bedroll next to Sveilrun, expecting to be shoved off any second, but it never came. Instead he could hear the skin-changer shift on the bed before her breathing began to deepen and she fell into a silent sleep. He sat up and looked over his shoulder to find that she had actually fallen asleep. The woman’s face was even more relaxed than the first time he had seen her rest, and took on an innocence that he didn’t think possible for someone like her. He watched her for a few moments; she was turned away from him on her side with one arm supporting her head and the other, the injured hand, resting on her waist. Her dark brown hair was in a mess of wavy curls that spread all around her head and framed her face. He only just noticed the tufts of pale blond hair around her ears and neck that matched the patches of blond fur on her wolf. In the few seconds that he observed her, he noticed the slight shiver that wracked through her body and left a trail of goosebumps. He huffed silently to himself before taking off his large fur jacket and placing it over the sleeping woman. Deciding that watching the woman any longer would be inappropriate, he laid back down and took a similar sleeping position as Sveilrun; on his side with an arm propped underneath his head as a pillow, but his back was turned to her. Soon, he as well joined Sveilrun and the other dwarves in the world of sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Any comments or constructive criticism would be appreciated!


	8. Shackle

A small girl, no older than seven, with wavy dark brown hair and bright, honey brown eyes stared up at her father as he chopped firewood. Her arms were loaded with the small bits of kindling as she waited for him to finish chopping the last of the logs. Her father was a very large man; he was well over nine feet tall and had broad enough shoulders to fill any doorway. His dark bangs hung down in his face despite having tied his hair back, having a similar wavy curl as his daughter, and sometimes shielded his dark blue eyes. At first glance, most would find him to have an intimidating demeanor, but the small girl never felt any sort of fear of the man and held all the respect in the world for him. As he finished with the last of the firewood, he left his large old axe stuck in the chopping block before picking up an armful of the wood. The father and daughter began their venture down a dirt path and back towards their home with enough firewood to keep a flame burning all night.

“Papa, can I ask you a question?” the small girl asked suddenly, breaking the silence that had fallen.

“Of course,” the man replied, his voice deep and gravely to match his appearance.

“How did you meet mum?” the light brown eyes of the girl were alight with curiosity, making a deep rumbling chuckle roll through the man’s chest.

“Why do you wonder such things, Sveilrun?” the man asked as a response.

“One of the other kids in the village were talking about how their parents met at one of the festivals,” the girl responded, “Did you meet mum at a festival too?”

“No,” the man practically laughed, but it sounded more like a rough rumbling, “Your mother had never gone to a festival before we met.”

As they were speaking they came along an old log that had fallen across the path months before. The tall man easily stepped over it before reaching back and grabbing onto the scruff of the girl’s shirt, lifting her over the log and placing her back on the ground on the other side. They continued down the path, Sveilrun staring up at her father with the same unyielding curiosity as the man took a moment to collect his thought.

“We met when I was just a young lad,” He began the story, “I found her walking a trail just outside a man village. I knew that I would marry her one day, from the moment I saw her. She was not so convinced, at first.”

“How did you know you’d marry her?” Sveilrun asked, thinking it ludicrous to make such an immediate decision, “You wouldn’t have known her!”

“You’ll understand when you’re older,” the man replied, “When you find the one intended for you, it’s the greatest feeling you’ll ever experience.”

“Will it happen soon?” she asked again, her face twisted in an unsure frown.

“No, you have many years before you need to think of such things,” he immediately replied, shifting all of his logs into one arm so he could pick up the small girl with the other and lift her onto his shoulder. She laughed and tried not to drop the kindling in her arms while remaining seated on his shoulder. 

“For now you need to stay with your mum and I,” He spoke, “Think you can handle that?”

Sveilrun nodded, her messy hair bobbing with her movement. Her father chuckled and placed a whiskery kiss upon the girl’s cheek before setting her back on the ground and brushing his hand over her head, “What would we ever do without you, pup?”

~~~

When Sveilrun next woke, her head was filled with a sleep ridden drowsiness that was only fueled by the darkness of the elven cell and the great warmth that surrounded her. She was faintly aware of the snores of all of the dwarves in the cells surrounding hers, and of a single snore very close by, but the sound that had brought irritation before didn’t bother her in her groggy state. If anything they just lured her into an even deeper sleep and she was more than willing to comply. But a sound even louder than the snores was a rhythmic ‘thump-thump’ that was more soothing than anything else. Another thing that she was only barely aware of in her daze was a weight settled over her waist and a glorious scent filling her nostrils. The scent smelled mostly of earth; of trees and grass and stone, but also held a metallic edge that distincted it from all other smells. Something at the back of her mind knew what it came from, and was flashing a hundred warning signs, but at that moment she couldn’t care less. Instead of waking herself up to inspect where these new senses were coming from, she pushed her face further into the warmth that engulfed her and breathed the scent in deeper. Soon she was losing herself to sleep once again.

When Thorin woke he could feel the deep, slow breaths leaving the woman wrapped in his arms. He immediately became aware of his surroundings, and had to stop the jolt of surprise at finding Sveilrun’s face nestled into his chest. Her dark brown hair tickled against his chin and nose when he breathed in and out, his nostrils being filled with the unique scent that could only belong to the skin-changer. She smelt like a combination of pine trees and autumn fallen leaves, and he found himself not wanting to pull away from her. His arms wrapped securely around her waist and he found himself subconsciously pulling her closer. He had thought her to be rather thin before because of the way her cloak hung off her, but even through their clothing he could feel the muscles in her back and shoulders that contrasted what he had once thought. It was only now that they were so close he could see things he couldn’t before; the faded freckles that scattered across her nose and cheeks and barely showed against her sunkissed skin, a thin scar that just faintly showed on her brow and down her cheek, and the slight twitch in her nose as she slept. Even in her subconscious state her nose twitched slightly, reminding him of when animals scented the air. It was all of these small details that suddenly made the woman seem real. 

Thorin felt her shift slightly, and when he looked down he found bright yellow eyes staring up at him. Her pupils dilated before sharpening to small specks, tinged with what he thought to be surprise.

“Morning,” he drawled, a slight smirk on his face at seeing her disturbed features, and feeling the need to tease and bug her.

Unbeknown to him, the yellow shine and wide eyes was not a look of surprise on Sveilrun’s face, but an expression of fear. Fear because the first thing that assaulted her senses was something that smelled so pleasing that she could practically feel herself being drawn to the scent, and in the next moment she saw Thorin. She saw his dark blue tunic barely an inch from her face and his bright blue eyes watching her. Those two things shouldn’t mix. She could feel the weight of one of his arms draped over her waist, and the fur from his jacket brushing against her cheek. Sveilrun could barely hear what came from his mouth before she shoved him away, making him roll off the bedroll and onto the stone floor.

Thorin grumbled and wiped some dirt from off his tunic as he stood up, “What was that fo-”

“Don’t touch me again,” Sveilrun snarled at him, her eyes staying a bright yellow, and she stood to her feet but kept her body pressed against the stone wall.

Thorin was a little taken back by her immediate fury. He had expected her not to be happy, but such a violent reaction was a little disappointing. His face darkened slightly and his jaw locked as he muttered, “I can’t help what I do in my sleep, and from how comfortable you looked - neither can you.”

Sveilrun’s face heated up with embarrassment and she growled again but with slightly less wrath than she held before, “Shut up! Just leave me alone!”

“That may be a bit difficult,” Thorin retaliated, “If you hadn’t noticed, we’re stuck together. Is my presence that displeasing?”

“Just,” Sveilrun nearly stuttered trying to find the right words. Her brain was overloaded with thoughts and concerns that were making it difficult to maintain her argument, “Just, stop. Don’t touch me like that again.”

Sveilrun could practically feel the sun come over the horizon as the terrible discomforts from the day before returned full-force. Pinpricks streamed up and down her arms and legs and her bones began to ache terribly. That, along with the hurricane of emotions tearing a path through her, left her having a difficult time remaining straight faced, and eventually her control slipped. Thorin just barely caught it; the slight crease in her brow, the clench in her jaw, and the way she held herself to the stonewall.

“Are you scared?” Thorin asked hesitantly, blue eyes narrowing on the woman.

“What?” Sveilrun snapped, but didn’t meet his gaze, “Of course not!”

The dwarf king stepped closer to the woman, “Like I said before, you're strong but you’re a terrible liar.”

He took another hesitant step forward and watched her hand go forward just an inch and she muttered darkly, “That’s close enough.”

The dwarf’s scent still filled her nostrils and she was finding it extremely difficult to think straight, it scared her how fantastic his presence had felt wrapped around her. But along with the excitement came panic; she should only be able to smell her intended one, she should only be able to feel that way for her intended one. The very thought of what this might mean terrified her. Could Thorin possibly be her mate? She knew that it wasn’t just skin-changers that would be mated together, her parents were a testament for that, but he couldn’t possibly be the one. He was stubborn and pigheaded, and he thought as lowly of her and she did of him. She refused to believe that he was her intended, but if he was, he would feel just as drawn to her as she was feeling to him.

“What is it you fear?” Thorin asked, his eyes evaluating.

“I fear nothing,” Sveilrun snarled, taking a deep breath to try and calm herself, “Do not mistaken my surprise for such a lowly emotion.”

“Everyone has a fear whether or not they’re willing to admit it,” Thorin chuckled dryly and took another small step forward that didn’t go unnoticed.

“If you think I’m going to confide my thoughts and emotions with you than you’re horribly mistaken,” Sveilrun hissed, venom practically dripping from every word, as her goal to push him away so far was proving to be difficult. If what she suspected was true, than she needed to instil hatred between them, “I am here to help you reclaim your mountain so I may claim mine back as well. I am not here to make friends or anything else of the sort. Pull something that that again and I will insure you will need to be dragged back to your precious mountain.”

Thorin’s gaze hardened, and for a moment he looked as if he would retaliate, but eventually he simply gave a jerky nod and turned away from her. Sveilrun’s shoulders relaxed somewhat and she slumped down onto the ground, her back resting in the corner of the cell. She pulled her knees up to her chest and concentrated on everything but the dwarf king. She could thankfully hear all of the dwarves still sleeping, their snores filling the silence. It’d be much worse if there was twelve witnesses for the skin-changer and dwarf king’s words. 

Sveilrun looked down at her hands; one was still in shackles and the other was covered by a makeshift bandage. She tugged on the cloth wrapped around her wrist and found terrible bruises all along her knuckles and wrist. And where it was not bruised there were scrapes and small gashes from rubbing against the metal of the shackles. Her attention focused to the hand still locked in a shackle as she wondered if she could get it free. She could break this one was well, but she’d rather not have two injured hands at the same time. Plus she may be able to find an easier way. The shackle was slightly loose on her wrist and she may be able to slide it off if she tugged hard enough. Getting a good grip on the shackle, she began to pull. She tried to make her hand as small as possible to make it easier to slide off, but it didn’t help, and the shackle wouldn’t come free. She huffed in annoyance, but stopped trying and put her hand by her side.

Thorin and Sveilrun sat in silence until the dwarves eventually awoken and breakfast was brought to them by the guards. The guard who delivered Thorin and Sveilrun’s meals looked taken aback that the skin-changer had managed to escape her bindings, but didn’t look enthusiastic at the thought of trying to get her chained again. Especially when she looked at the elf with gleaming yellow eyes and a slight curl to her lip. He made fast work of handing over their food before scurrying along to find something better, and probably safer, to do. 

By midday, Sveilrun’s body was nearly shaking from repressing her wolf form. Going for a few hours could be dealt with, a day would be discomforting, but two days in a row was near torture. The problem was not only that Thorin was in the cell with her, it was the shackle around her wrist as well. The shackle was much too small, and transforming with it on could cause much more damage than it would solve. She was half relieved it was on to make sure she wasn’t tempted to shift in front of the dwarf. Shifting was not a pretty sight to behold, and it was considered a incredibly private manner that at most was seen by close family or mates. Seeing as she refused to believe Thorin would ever be either of the two, she would also have to refuse herself the gratification that would come with shifting. But as noon slowly passed, the skin-changer’s extreme discomforts did not go unnoticed. Thorin had been aware for awhile now that Sveilrun was having an exceedingly difficult time and couldn’t figure out why. She sat in the corner with her knees drawn up protectively; every few moments she would rub the back of her neck or her arms as if she had sore muscles, and a slight sheen of sweat began to form on her brow. Her eyebrows were pinched together, which he at first thought was leftover anger from earlier, but could now see was pain. 

"What's wrong with you?" The dwarf king asked.

"Nothing," Sveilrun ground out, "I'm fine."

"No, you're not," Thorin argued and stepped toward the skin-changer, making her jump slightly. He ignored her reaction and knelt in front of her, taking her injured hand in his and looking it over. Deciding it couldn't be her hand, which had already healed to just a few blotching bruises, that was causing her this level of pain, he reached forward and pressed the back up his hand to her forehead.

Sveilrun batted away his hand with a silent growl, but not before Thorin could feel the fever burning through her skin. He grumbled angrily at her stubbornness before muttering under his breath so that the other dwarves may not hear, "Something is most definitely wrong, Sveilrun. Your forehead is burning hotter than a forge, and I may not be a master in medicines but even I know that means something is wrong."

Her gaze flickered to his for a moment in surprise; although he had said her name before, that was the first time she had actually heard it. Before that it was always just 'wolf', and she stuck to calling him 'dwarf' in return. This sudden realization startled the skin-changer.

"What is wrong?" Thorin replied, speaking the words with a slow, deep tone. The level of concern he was showing made the woman's heart pound painfully fast with both fear and a level of excitement she tried to reign in. 

Sveilrun sighed, knowing that the dwarf king would not stop until she answered him. Swallowing the bile rising in her throat, she replied with a hoarse voice, "I haven't shifted since yesterday. It's just making me a bit . . . sick."

Sveilrun felt that that explanation had been downplayed dramatically, and from the expression on Thorin's face, so did he. 

"Then shift," Thorin commanded.

"I can't," Sveilrun hissed out, embarrassment flaring at her cheeks and making her ears turn red.

"Why not?" Thorin asked, his eyebrows scrunching together.

Sveilrun merely raised her shackled wrist as a response. The thought of having to explain skin-changer beliefs about shifting and the privacy of it all seemed far too embarrassing, so she would use the shackle instead - which really was a concern. Thorin took her shackled hand and looked over the metal band around her wrist. His blue eyes narrowed for a moment as he thought.

“Could it be pulled off?” He asked, but made no move to actually pull the shackle in fear of harming the woman more.

“I already tried, it’s too small.” Sveilrun replied, and tried to pull her hand away from the dwarf’s but couldn’t because of his firm grasp. Thorin shot her a look that spoke not to move, and continued to study the shackle. His thumb briefly ran over the keyhole and the crack through the metal where it would part. 

“Perhaps it could be picked open?” he suggested, “It is old, and not of the best make.”

“You got all of that from staring at it?” Sveilrun muttered skeptically, but at Thorin’s sharp glance, muttered more to herself, “Right. Dwarf and metal. Dumb question.”

“Do you have anything small, thin, and won’t break easily?” Thorin asked, glancing at the skin-changers bag that laid by her side.

Sveilrun paused for a moment, her eyebrows scrunching together, before nodding solemnly. Unclasping her bag, she reached in and pulled out her old kalimba. The metal tines across the wooden box fit the description; they were small, thin, and because they were made of metal they wouldn’t break easily. Carefully, as to not cause any further damage to the instrument, Sveilrun pried off one of the tines on the end and handed it to the dwarf king. It made her upset to have to ruin her instrument, but right now freedom was looking more important than a musical tune. Thorin took it from her, deeming it suitable, and set to the task of unlocking the shackle. He worked for many minutes, concentrating on not breaking the thin piece of metal and leaving it stuck in the shackle. Eventually there was a satisfying ‘click’ and the shackle came undone. Thorin pulled it from her wrist and chucked it across the cell, making it clang loudly against the floor. Sveilrun rubbed her sore wrist thankfully, but the next problem still lingered at the back of her mind; Thorin was still in the cell with her. 

“Thank you,” Sveilrun murmured, not meeting his eyes as she continued to sooth the worn skin. 

A small smile twitched on Thorin’s features, but he quickly smothered it and handed back the metal tine, “Well, go ahead and do your- whatever you called it. Before you kill yourself, preferably.”

Sveilrun’s face heated with embarrassment. If he turned around and didn’t look than it might be fine, but the thought of shifting with him there still made the skin-changer uncomfortable.

“I- I can’t,” she finally managed to say, cursing herself for stuttering.

“What’s wrong now?” Thorin asked with a exhausted tone.

Sveilrun took a deep breath, the pain under her skin and between her bones was almost becoming too much to handle and her pride was slowly slipping away and being taken over by self-preservation. Finally she responded, “I can’t because you are in here.”

“Why is that a problem?” Thorin questioned, folding his arms across his chest.

“Because I will be completely naked until I’m done!” Sveilrun hissed so that the other dwarves may not hear.

Thorin’s eyes widened slightly and he averted his gaze to the floor of the cell. Clearing his throat he responded, “Than I will avert my eyes.”

“Are you sure you can stay turned away for as long as I may take?” Sveilrun questioned seriously, but kept her eyes on her hands, “It is something private, and it is not pleasant to watch.”

Thorin nearly rolled his eyes at the skin-changer, but stopped himself, “I am sure I can manage to stay turned away.”

“Even if you hear every bone in my body break?” Sveilrun asked again, “You could barely handle a broken hand.”

Thorin’s eyes widened, he had not thought the process would be as gruesome as she described. Eventually he gave a jerky nod and replied, “Of course.”

Turning away from the woman, he moved to stand in front of the cell door incase any of the other dwarves were to look over or an elf guard walk past. He could faintly hear the sound of cloth slipping from skin before landing on the floor in a silent ‘thump’, and had to remind himself not to turn around. What he heard next was much less pleasant. It started with a single ear splitting crack that nearly made him whirl around in surprise. He only stopped himself because of his promise. That single crack was quickly followed by many more; loud cracks, and snaps that filled the cell, along with the occasional whimper of pain from the woman. He could faintly hear the other dwarves asking what the noise was, but he remained silent and kept his eyes fixed on the wall across the cell. In what felt like hours, but was merely minutes later, everything fell silent. The moment of silence was filled only by Thorin’s rapid heartbeat as he waited for some signal that she was alright and he could turn around.

Something cold and damp brushed against his forearm, startling the dwarf king, and made him jump slightly before looking down. A large wolf nose was nudging against his arm, and bright yellow eyes were watching him questioningly. Sveilrun’s wolf form was too tall for the elven cell; her hackles brushed against the roof, and she was forced to lower head until she was nearly looking the dwarf king in the eye. All of Sveilrun’s senses heightened with her transformation, and now Thorin’s scent surrounded her even more than before. Luckily in his form she could hide behind the wolf’s firmly placed control and passive facial expressions.

“I apologize for the inconvenience,” the wolf’s voice rumbled through the cell, “This form takes up a bit more space than I thought it would.” 

Thorin merely nodded in responce and watched as Sveilrun tried backing up. The task proved difficult as she couldn’t turn her head completely to see where her legs were, and she ended up banging her rump into the back of the cell. Growling in frustration, she tried to turn to press more against the side wall and give Thorin more space, but when her legs began to tangle she threw her head up and cracked it against the ceiling of the cell. The wolf huffed angrily while trying to right itself out, but in such a cramped space it was exceedingly difficult. Eventually she managed to get herself into the corner across form the bedroll and slumped onto the floor. Thorin could faintly hear her grumbling about ‘pointy eared dandelions’ not knowing how to make big enough cells.

Thorin opened his mouth to speak, wanting to ask the skin-changer if shifting had helped with her condition, but stopped. The giant wolf’s eyes were already closed, and her side rose and fell with the deep lulling breaths of sleep. She was more exhausted than she would have been willing to admit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Any comments or feedback would be fantastic!


	9. Escape

Sveilrun slept most of the day away, only stirring once or twice before falling back into a deep sleep. Eventually she ended up curling in on herself, her neck twisted in towards her stomach and her paws folded together in the centre. Thorin rested against the cell wall next to the wolf’s sleeping form, not touching but close enough to feel the warmth radiate from her dark brown fur. He was on the verge of dozing off as well, boredom fogging his mind over, when a heavy weight dropped in his lap. His eyes snapped open at the sudden force pressed on his legs, but stilled when his gaze came upon the wolf’s head. She had moved once again in her sleep so her head rested on the dwarf’s lap, the end of her snout almost touching his boots and the fur on the back of her neck brushing against his tunic. Thorin wondered for a moment if she had awoken, but dismissed that thought when he noticed her closed eyes and deep breathing. The tip of the wolf's snout dug deeper into the cloth around his shins and she breathed in deeply, the same way as she had done when she had awoken in the dwarf's arms, making Thorin wonder if she liked the smell of him. 

Thorin's blue eyes watched her as she slept, unable to move because of the weight on his legs, but not wanting to awaken her. He only noticed now that they were so close that the dark brown fur of her neck held specks of blond much like her actual hair. Her fur looked thick and course, and for a few moments he contemplated trying to touch it, but thought over possible ways that could end badly. Eventually he grew bored and decided to just do it despite possible consequences. 

As slowly as he could, he gently rested his hand against the side of the wolf's neck. When the wolf made no move of waking, he pushed his hand further into her fur. Just as he suspected, the strands of dark fur were course, but the undercoat of fur was soft to the touch and radiated heat. The warmth and comfort that came from such a simple touch confused the dwarf king, but he banished those thoughts from his mind as sleep began to overtake him. 

~~~

'What is wrong with me?'

The question floated around Sveilrun's mind when she awoke to find she had actually slept on Thorin's lap. She knew the moment she had awoken that something was horribly wrong when the scent of the dwarf king was practically wrapped around her, and a weight pressing on the side of her neck. She could faintly hear deep snores directly above her head, and turned her head slightly to peer up at him. Thorin’s head was leaned back against the wall of the cell, his eyes shut peacefully as he slept, and his hand rested against the side of her neck. She was almost tempted to fall back asleep, pretend she hadn’t woken up, and simply enjoy the peace of that moment, but she knew that was a bad idea. Being careful not to awaken the dwarf king, she slowly slid her head out from his lap, letting his hand drop back down into his leg. Sveilrun stilled when she felt his hand fall, but once she heard his continued snore she moved further away before sitting up. 

“Growing fond of a dwarf, wolf?” A snide remark sounded from the cell door. Legolas stood, his eyes evaluating Sveilrun with an indifferent sneer. A growl sounded low in the wolf’s throat as she stepped closer to face the blonde elf, “I wouldn’t think you to sink so low, though I shouldn’t be surprised, filth finds the company of filth.”

“You would not be so arrogant if there were no bars between us,” Sveilrun’s voice rumbled through the caverns that made the dungeon, “Come a little closer and I’ll show you how my people earned the title ‘volatile’.”

“No,” Legolas responded with a taunting tone, “I think I’d rather watch you sit and rot away with your dwarves.”

“Why? Scared to fight the big bad wolf?” the chuckling voice of the skin-changer could be heard even by the furthest of dwarves as she taunted the blonde elf, “Or do you simply enjoy hiding behind your guards? They’re not exactly a challenge either. The last one’s neck broke like a twig. If I had put in any more effort, his head would have come clean off.” 

Legolas’ eyes narrowed and he hissed back, “I do not fear a nearly extinct half-breed who partakes in the company of dwarves.”

“I am not ‘partaking’ in anything,” Sveilrun responded in a lowered voice, her ears twitching back to hear the continued snores of Thorin.

“That’s right, I nearly forgot,” Legolas went on, “Your kind believed in intended ones. Tell me, how much longer do you think you’ll have to wait for him to show up?” 

Sveilrun held her tongue, not because the question caused her any form of emotional grief, but because she truly didn’t know how to respond. She suspected she may have found such a person, but at the moment she was far from admitting it. Especially to someone she despises so much. There were few people she was willing to waist an emotion such as hate on - Legolas was one of the few. Right behind Thranduil. 

Finally Sveilrun managed to respond in the same tone of mockery, “I prefer the thought of ‘happily ever after’ over an eternity of loneliness - that’s what your kind is known for, aren’t they? I may be wrong, but why don’t you check with your father? I feel he would know.”

Legolas’ jaw twitched slightly as he clenched it in anger, and his blue eyes narrowed on the skin-changer, “Enjoy your cell, wolf.”

The blond elf turned and swept from the dungeons angrily, earning stares from the dwarves as he passed. Sveilrun huffed before turning back to face Thorin, and finding him wide awake with his arms crossed over his chest and a single brow raised questioningly. Sveilrun’s head raised slightly in surprise and bumped the ceiling of the cell. She growled in frustration before saying to the dwarf, “I thought you were asleep.”

“I was,” he responded.

Sveilrun watched him with a leveled gaze before slumping down onto the floor, “And how long were you awake for?”

“Before you were,” he replied again with an even tone.

Sveilrun’s eyes widened slightly. He had seemed genuinely asleep enough to fool even her. She went over everything she had done since awakening before chuckling, “Clever dwarf, that’s a new one.”

Thorin’s lips twitched into an almost smile before being smothered, “You know him well?”

“We’ve met once or twice,” Sveilrun replied, “Neither of us made a very good first, second, or third impression. He made the selective list worthy of hatred.” 

“Impressive,” Thorin quipped, “What did he do to earn such an esteemed position?”

“That’s a story for another day,” Sveilrun averted, not in the mood to speak of past transgressions.

There was a pause as Thorin collected his thoughts. He knew by now that when the woman avoided subjects of conversations it would be difficult to pry any further; when the wolf avoided something, however, it may have well not been brought up at all. The dwarf watched as the wolf set her head heavily upon her front paws, most likely to keep from hitting the roof of the cell again, but kept its cunning eyes fixed on the dwarf. 

A sudden thought came to Thorin. He hesitated for a moment before asking, “What are intended ones?”

The wolf raised her head, but didn’t respond. Instead her yellow eyes evaluated the dwarf as she thought of a way to answer.

“The elf,” Thorin continued, “He mentioned them. Said that your kind believed in them, what are they?”

Sveilrun stalled for a moment before finally responding in a lowered tone, “Intended ones are those my kind are meant to wed. The wolf skin-changers used to be distant, even with each other, and they were becoming scarce because of it. By myth it was said that they prayed to one of the gods for a solution, so we were given intended ones to ensure future sons and daughters. There are other words to describe them; soulmates, companions, but intended ones was the prefered term in my village.”

“What happened to yours?” Thorin asked.

Sveilrun’s pause this time was much longer before she replied in an emotionless tone that signalled to the dwarf king the arise of her barriers, “I never found him.”

Thorin quickly changed tactics of making the skin-changer talk longer, and attempted to lighten the mood slightly by quipping, “Perhaps it’s me- we have slept together twice.”

Thorin quickly realised he only made her retract even further when her eyes became rather blank and she looked away towards the cell door. With an indifferent voice she commented, “The sun shall set soon. I will have to sleep in human form, going past time limits too soon could prove to be challenging.”

“How will you know?” Thorin asked suddenly, breaking Sveilrun from her thoughts.

“I can usually just sense when I have to-”

“How will you know when you find him? Your intended one.” Thorin cut off her words.

Sveilrun hesitated, humming low in her throat with thought before responding, “When a skin-changer reaches the age of sixteen they lose their sense of smell until they find their intended one. If the one you’re looking for is the only thing you can smell, he is easier to find.”

Thorin nodded in understanding but not before Sveilrun affirmed, “The likelihood of finding one’s intended one was a lucky occasion when my village flourished, the chance now is near impossible. It is best not to think of such things.”

 

~~~

 

That night Sveilrun didn’t sleep. Too many thoughts were crossing her mind, and being forced back into her human form left her with a certain vulnerability that the wolf could have fought with fangs and claws. She rarely slept in human form because of it. Human form was inherently weaker, even if she were stronger than any woman from a man village, and the thought of sleeping that way made her feel unsafe. Sveilrun didn’t know how she could have fallen asleep in such a form with the dwarf king, and decided to conclude that exhaustion can prey on even the worst insomniacs. 

As she sat in the relative silence of the night, her only comfort coming from her thick traveling cloak, she thought of all possible escape plans. She couldn’t kill another guard, none of them were stupid enough to get within reaching distance of the woman. Even Legolas kept a few steps away from the cell door. Unlike the shackles, the cell doors would not be easy to pick, and if it were possible, Sveilrun thought that Thorin would have already suggested or tried. She most definitely wouldn’t be able to knock down the door, even if she were in wolf form and had a nasty temper going. As she thought, planned, and basically daydreamed, her plans became more and more outrageous until they eventually reached: train a bird to steal keys. Even if she had a bird, which was highly unlikely given where they are, and the bird was intelligent enough to know what keys are, and could handle the weight of the keys - it would most certainly be seen by a guard.

“I’ll wager the sun’s on the rise,” Sveilrun could hear Bofur sigh, “It must be nearly dawn.”

“We’re never going to reach the mountain, are we?” Ori asked with a dejected tone.

Sveilrun could faintly hear the muted sound of bare feet and the slight jingle of keys coming towards her and Thorin’s cell door. Her eyebrows creased together in confusion as she stood, catching Thorin’s attention. Suddenly Bilbo’s face appeared outside of the cell door, in his hands the keys to their cells, and said with a grin, “Not stuck in here, you’re not!”

“Bilbo!” Sveilrun exclaimed in a hushed tone as Thorin stood and hastened to her side, “How did you get past the guards?”

“Now’s not the time we have to hurry,” Bilbo whispered back, “Before any guards come.”

While Bilbo fumbled with the keys, Sveilrun quickly grabbed her harness off the floor and clasped it around her waist like a belt. Once Thorin and Sveilrun were freed from their cell, Bilbo moved onto the rest, unlocking all of the cells one by one. As the dwarves streamed out, they hugged and patted eachothers shoulders happily. Both Kili and Fili were set loose from their cells and rushed to Sveilrun and Thorin’s side. Kili lightly grabbed the woman’s elbow to get her attention.

“You alright, Veili?” Kili asked in a hushed tone, the sincerity behind his question shocking the skin-changer, “How’d you manage to break your hand?”

“I’m fine. It was just an accident,” Sveilrun responded with a lie, her hand brushing against the top of his head in assurance before she could stop herself. Thorin and Fili both looked confused by her sudden display of affection, but Kili didn’t seem to pay any mind. Catching herself a moment too late, she quickly dropped her hand before muttering, “Time to leave.”

Sveilrun and the dwarves all swarmed towards a set of stairs that looked to lead out of the dungeon, but stopped when Bilbo called, “Not that way, down here. Follow me.”

Bilbo lead the company down a long staircase and through the Woodland Realm. The dwarves followed in a line, whispering amongst each other as they snuck along, and Sveilrun followed at the back so she could listen for any approaching guards. Eventually they came down another set of stairs to find a large wine cellar. Shelves filled with large bottles of wine were set up, filled with enough wine to sate even the most greedy of trolls, and large barrels were stacked along the walls.

“This way,” Bilbo whispered as he lead the company further in. Sveilrun just dipped her head low enough to see down into the room when her eyes caught the group of elves slumped down onto a table.

“I don’t believe it; we’re in the cellars!” Kili hissed, trying to keep his voice lowered and not being all that successful.

All of the dwarves start grumbling angrily, their faces beginning to turn red, and Bofur whispered angrily, “You were supposed to be leading us out, not further in!”

“I know what I’m doing!” Bilbo whispered back frustratedly. 

Sveilrun shushed them when she saw one of the elf guards move slightly, but his movements stilled as he fell back into a wine induced sleep. With more urges from Bilbo to follow, they crept along the cellar until they reached a large stack of empty barrels in the middle of the room, hidden from the sleeping elves by a long shelf of wine bottles. All of the dwarves stood alongside the stack of barrels, looking around with confused and shocked expressions. 

“Everyone, climb into the barrels, quickly!” Bilbo whispered to the company.

“Are you mad!?” Dwalin protested in a barely hushed tone, “They’ll find us!”

Sveilrun noticed the lever on the floor and quickly realized why the barrels were stacked in such a way and what Bilbo intended to do.

“No, no, they won’t, I promise you,” Bilbo exclaimed in a rush, “Please, please, you must trust me!”

The dwarves all turned to each other and begin to whisper furiously, trying to decide whether or not to trust the hobbit. A commotion sounds above them, and Sveilrun could hear a group of elves approaching. Turning to Thorin, who stood slightly to the side with her and Bilbo, she hissed underneath her breath, “There are guards approaching, there’s no more time for arguing.”

Thorin only looks at the skin-changer for a brief second before turning and whispering to the group of dwarves, in a tone surprisingly commanding considering how hushed it was, “Do as he says!” 

The entire group of dwarves instantly listen to their leader and begin to climb into the barrels one by one. As they climb in Bilbo counts them all to make sure they’re all there, and Sveilrun stood off to the side, her dagger made of a stag’s jaw held at the ready for any approaching elves. Finally all of the dwarves had been stuffed into the barrels, and Sveilrun quickly climbed into one furthest away from the lever and closest to where she knew the floor would open up, sitting in between Thorin and Kili.

Bofur stuck his head out from his barrel and asked Bilbo, who was just finishing recounting all of the dwarves, “What do we do now?”

Bilbo stepped towards the lever, making Sveilrun shrink back into her barrel already knowing what is to come, before responding, “Hold your breath.”

“Hold my breath?” Bofur questioned, “What do you mean?”

Bilbo didn’t respond, and instead pulled the lever. Almost instantly the floor beneath them began to tilt open, sending that stack of dwarf-filled barrels rolling down the trap-door. Being at the front, Sveilrun is the first to feel the crisp water of the underground river, but the company of dwarves soon follow after. The dwarves all let out loud howls and bellows as they tumbled down the ramp and landed into the harsh water. Sveilrun managed to quickly right herself out as her barrel began to float with the flow of the current, and grabbed onto the nearest rock ledge to bring herself to a halt. As the last of the dwarves fell from the tilting floor, it shut behind them and immersed the river tunnel in darkness. The first dwarf to float down near Sveilrun was Thorin, and she held out a hand to catch him before he could float any further. He reached his hand out as well and she quickly clasped onto his wrist. His hand followed suit and wrapped around her thin wrist to securely lock their arms together. Next Thorin grabbed onto the rock ledge opposite of Sveilrun so they formed a barricade to catch the other dwarves and make sure they were all alright. 

Sveilrun counts the dwarves out loud, making sure they had all resurfaced relatively safely.Realising who the missing member of the company is, she asks aloud, “How is Bilbo going to get down?”

Just as the words leave her lips, the trap door swings open once again and out comes Bilbo who lands in the water as stiff as a plank. When his head arises from the chilled water, he sputters loudly and quickly begins to paddle his legs and arms in an attempt to stay afloat. He manages to grab onto the closest barrel, Nori’s, who grabs onto him and attempts to pull him up.

“Well done, Master Baggins,” Thorin praises, and at Bilbo’s sputtered ‘go’ commands his fellow dwarves, “Come on, let’s go.”

The company begins to paddle down the narrow underground river, following the hint of light showing somewhere down the tunnel. Sveilrun’s arms are slightly longer than the dwarves and she’s able to stay at the front, but the creaking discomfort in her bones telling her to shift begins to come back. The chill water making her fingers go numb, along with the discomforts of not shifting, leave her in a rather bad state, but she tries her best to ignore the negative sensations and continues paddling forward. Eventually the light becomes an opening in the tunnel back to the outside world. Sveilrun was almost able to appreciate the sense of freedom and joy seeing the sky again brought, but it was quickly squashed by the sight of the waterfall up ahead.

“Hold on!” Thorin bellowed, spotting the quickly approaching hazard. 

Sveilrun ducked down further into the barrel to the best of her abilities, her hands clutching onto the rim of the barrel, but it didn’t help as well as she would have wished. She felt the drop in her stomach as she went over the edge, and braced herself for the sudden plunge into the water below. If she hadn’t been completely soaked the first time, she definitely was now. She had to hastily swipe wet hair from her eyes as she coughed up a mouthful of water. Her barrel twisted and turned, bumping into anything and everything in her path, and making her thoroughly dizzy. The rapids sent the company in all different directions, the currents pushing against them mercilessly. Luckily the ride through the hazardous waters soon begins to calm as a guardpost built over the river comes into view. Fortunately, the metal gate that would normally close in the river and prevent departure was currently wide open. Unfortunately, the sound of a horn rang through the air- alerting the guards on the post of the barrel-riding dwarves. 

Sveilrun can already tell that they won’t make it through the gate in time. With quick trembling hands, she undoes the harness strapped around her waist and pulls it off, calling out as she does, “Thorin!”

When the dwarf king, whose eyes are wide with panic, catches the skin-changers gaze, she tosses the harness to him. He easily catches it from the air and looks at her with confusion.

“Lose that bag and the elves will be the least of your problems,” Sveilrun yells, “I have some business to attend to. Hold it until I’m done.”

Without waiting for a reply, Sveilrun threw herself forward. The force pushed the barrel into dumping her into the chilled water- effectively disappearing from the dwarves and elves sight.

“Sveilrun!” Thorin shouted, his eyes scanning over the water for the woman’s form, but found nothing.

He can only stare for so long before he, and the rest of the dwarves, reach the closed metal gate. Thorin’s barrel is the first to slam into the gate, his hands reach out to grab onto the metal, and he shouts out an angry and defeated, “No!”

The barrels pile into each other, unable to move because of the pushing currents and blocking gate. The elven guards draw their swords and advance on the trapped dwarves. One guard steps towards the bank of the river, having seen the woman suddenly disappear from sight and into the rushing waters. He didn’t even have the time to defend himself as a giant form surfaced from the depths of the water and attacked him, knocking him to the ground and ripped out his throat before he could shout for help. The giant wolf form of the skin-changer stood, lips pulled back in a savage, bloody snarl as she turned on the rest of the elves. 

Sveilrun doesn’t even have time to attack as one of the elf guards is suddenly shot in the back with a black arrow. Her great yellow eyes widen in surprise as a group of snarling, growling orcs swarm over the guardpost and begin killing the elven guards. More orcs appear from the bushes, weapons wielded at the ready. Sveilrun is shocked still for a moment, a flood of memories taking her over before she can snap out of it and turn on the nearest orc.

Their situation just became so much worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you for reading! Leave me a comment or review and I'll get back to you as soon as I can! There's a high chance this will be the last chapter until January, if so then have a happy holiday!


	10. Down the River

There are few things that can be learned while trapped in an orc camp. Being trapped in said orc camp can be so mind-numbing in between their acts of torture that many who were captured went insane. To be in a constant state of either brain dead or suffering is one of the worst experiences Sveilrun could remember. The only way to try and stay sane was to try and learn. To question anything and everything that she could grasp onto; how many rocks surrounded her cage? How long would it take to convince a bird to fly to her? What are the orcs saying? How difficult is it to snap an orc’s neck? Sveilrun eventually found answers to all of her questions. Slowly but surely, as time passed in her dreaded captivity, she began to understand what the orcs were saying. As time passed she became fluent in Black Speech.

The great wolf of the skinchanger stood in surprised silence when a swarm of orcs emerged from the woods around her and the elven guards she was attacking only moments before. The dwarves were stuck in their barrels, trapped by the river current pushing them against the metal gate, against the only way of their escape. But her mind couldn't comprehend their situation fast enough as she briefly broke back to that state of mind-numbing insanity. She could faintly hear the shouts of the dwarves, but it took her a moment to register their danger.

“Gorid! Zib! Goridug!” One of the orcs, the leader of them, snarled. It only took Sveilrun a second to translate what he had said, “Slay them all,” and that was all it for her to snap herself from her sudden state. 

With a deafening roar and a newfound anger, the giant wolf leapt to protect the dwarves. Orcs were climbing over the giant wall that made the guard post and threw themselves towards the dwarves. Sveilrun attacked any orc that stood between her and the dwarves; clawing and slashing them with her talons, and sinking her teeth into their disgusting flesh. It did not take long for her to reach the dwarves. One of the orcs jumped down to land on one of the barrels, its weapon held at the ready, but Sveilrun leapt and smashed into the orc before it could land- pinning it down on the ground on the other side of the river before tearing out its throat. 

“Kili!” Dwalin’s voice shouted, drawing Sveilrun’s attention back to the dwarves. The young dwarf prince stood on the bank of the river, caught in a fight with an orc, but he manages to kill it with a sword thrown to him by Dwalin. Another orc runs toward Kili and Sveilrun tries to run to his aid, but she’s quickly stopped by another wave of orcs pushing her further away. She snaps and growls at the orcs that begin to surround her, pushing them further back, but they keep persisting forward and occasionally try to jab her with their swords. Sveilrun quickly tired of their game of chicken and leapt at the closest orc, latching her teeth onto its arm and tossing the orc at the rest of them. Before they could retaliate she quickly skirted out of the circle of orcs and ran back towards the dwarves who were being attacked by another hoard of orcs, but it was Kili she was most worried about.

Kili ran up the steps of the guard post, hastily slaying the orcs trying to stop him, and reached for the lever to free the dwarves. Sveilrun could hear the silent ‘twang’ of a bowstring before a long black arrow sunk into Kili’s leg. Kili’s eyes widened and he staggered slightly, and crumpled onto the ground with a pain filled groan, his hands clutching his leg.

“Kili!” Fili cried out for his brother.

The dwarves only saw a blur of dark brown fur soar over them as their giant wolf guard leapt over the river and up the stairs to Kili’s aid. An orc was charging towards the injured dwarf prince, but Sveilrun rushed at the orc, slamming her head into its gut and pushing him down onto the ground. It only took seconds for her to rip apart the orc, killing it within moments. When she turned back to Kili, he had pulled down on the lever, freeing the dwarves. 

“Drepa iav! drepa avhe hundur!” The leader orc roared. ‘Kill it! Kill the dog!’

The wolf’s lips pulled back in a snarl directed at the orcs that were now storming towards her and Kili. One by one all of the dwarves still stuck in the barrels are whooshed down a short waterfall and into the harsh current of the river. Kili, who after pulling the lever landed on his back in a pained heap, rolls off the guard post and back into his empty barrel below, snapping the end of the arrow as he fell in. Sveilrun looked over the wall of the guard post to find all of the dwarves being pushed down the river.

“Khozdayin obguryash! Argurid!” The lead orc shouted angrily. Sveilrun translated his command, ‘After them!’, and decided it best if she followed his demand as well. Bounding over the wall and landing on the river bank below with a loud ‘thump’, she takes off after the dwarves. It’s difficult to catch up to them; she has to climb over rocks and down cliffs, killing any orc in her way, while trying to run faster than the river current. She’s aware of the orc pack and elf guards following close behind, but try not to bother with them and instead keep running. The elves are much more concerned with the orcs then with her and the dwarves, and the orcs will have to deal with the elves attacks. 

Eventually the wolf manages to draw nearer to the dwarves so she’s running parallel to Thorin. There are far too many orcs for her to kill, so she ends up running or jumping around most of them, pushing them in the river when she can or slashing at them with her talons mid-stride. None of the orcs could hope to keep up with the wolf’s long strides. Luckily the dwarves managed to defend themselves in the rapids; arrows were deflected by the thick wood of the barrels, and they managed to steal some orc weapons and were using them to kill any who came too close. Sveilrun almost found it comical when the dwarves tried to paddle in certain directions but were overpowered by the currents, it would be funnier if they weren’t in danger of possible drowning. 

On the other side of the river, Bombur’s barrel ended up being propelled out of the water and he began to roll down the bank. He managed to take out a surprising amount of orcs before jumping back into the river and into a spare barrel. Sveilrun is so distracted by Bombur’s performance that she doesn’t spot an orc hiding just inside the treeline before it’s too late. Out of the corner of her eye she sees the glint of light against metal and quickly swerves, but not fast enough. A sharp pain slashes across her shoulder and a high yelp leaves the wolf. Turning to her assailant, she quickly back away before the orc can attack again. Blood drips from the orc’s blade, but she doesn’t have time to ponder on how sever her wound is. She can already hear the dwarves disappearing down the river without her and fears losing them to the current. Deciding that a single orc is not worth the hassle, she turns and runs. Normally her pride would stop her from leaving a fight, but her concern for the dwarves took over and forced her to trail after them. The skin-changer could faintly feel the blood burning across her skin and the sharp sting her movements caused, but adrenalin fueled her movements, forcing her to forget her current state. Even with her movement momentarily slowed, she manages to catch up to the dwarves once again. A burning begins in her lungs as her breaths come out in heavy pants; it’s been too long since she’s had to run for so long with no breaks and her body was starting to feel its affects. Sveilrun’s bright yellow eyes scanned ahead to find a long wary stretch of river that they have yet to travel, and the heavy weight of dread pushed down on her.

She was most definitely not being paid enough for this. 

~~~

 

Eventually, after what seemed like hours upon hours of running, the company managed to lose the pack of orcs. The river began to calm and the dwarves lost the hard push of the current, making them slow to a crawling speed, and the dwarves are forced to push themselves along by paddling with their hands. Luckily because of the hindered pace of the dwarves, she was allowed to slow down as well. Unfortunately it was once that she slowed down that she was able to comprehend the pain burning in her shoulder. The pain forced her to walk with the slightest of limps, her injured shoulder demanding to be favoured, but her limbs were already sore and shaking from prolonged use.

“Anything behind us?” Thorin called to Sveilrun, too far away from the wolf to notice her predicament. 

“No, not for a ways at least,” Sveilrun called back, her lungs burning in her chest making her words come out slow and panted. 

“I think we’ve outrun the orcs,” Bofur called hopefully.

“Not for long; we’ve lost the current,” Thorin responded, “Make for the shore! Come on, let’s go!”

The half drowned dwarves and Bilbo begin to paddle towards the riverbank, and Sveilrun stops at the edge to wait for them. The drenched group climb out onto the rock slabs on the side of the river. As they all climb out, Sveilrun takes a closer step towards the river before plunging in. Her dark fur was matted down with sweat, but the cold water of the river brought instant gratification and she let herself sink down further until only her snout and eyes came out of the water and rested on the stone. Her great yellow eyes closed as her head began to swim on the verge of unconsciousness. 

“On your feet, we need to keep moving,” Thorin’s voice sounded above her, but she didn’t look up. Even having to move her eyes seemed far too difficult in that moment. 

“The lass’s been running for hours, Thorin,” Bofur’s hesitant voice sounded a few feet away from the two, “Maybe we should let her rest a moment.”

Whether Thorin would have agreed or not is unknown as Fili interrupted by calling, “Kili’s wounded. His leg needs binding.”

“There’s an orc pack on our tail; we keep moving,” Thorin retaliated.

“To where?” the wolf’s growling voice rumbled, irritation clinging to every syllable, “There’s a lake lying in our way and we will have no way to cross it.”

“Then we go around,” Bilbo suggested.

“Don’t be idiotic, none of you can travel faster than an orc pack,” Sveilrun snarled, “and currently I’m the only one who has a means to kill them, so I suggest we take a moment to rest and think of a real plan.”

Thorin hesitated before ordering, “Bind his leg, quickly. You have two minutes.”

Sveilrun’s eyes shut once again as she let herself rest. Everything hurt; the pads of her paws were cut and bruised from the harsh rocks she had to run across, her legs throbbed from overuse, her lungs and throat burned, and the injury on her shoulder stung. All of this added up to make her rather angry and frustrated. She could hear the dwarves shuffling around as they sorted themselves out and binded Kili’s leg. Sveilrun could hear shuffled footsteps come towards her and cracked open one eye to find Ori sitting on the bank of the river next to her. He took off his boots and emptied the water from them back into the river, but his eyes caught on something strange.

“Hey, Nori, there’s something wrong with the water,” Ori’s hesitant voice spoke to his brother, who moved towards the river to take a look. Sveilrun heard the shuffling of a few other sets of feet coming towards her, but she couldn’t seem to care less. A certain lightheadedness seemed to suddenly overtake her as her breath started coming out in quick short pants. She could make out the dwarves talking above her;

“Is that-” Nori’s voice cut off.

“That’s blood!” Dwalin exclaimed.

“Who’s blood is it?” Ori asked with the same tone of hesitance.

“Wolf, were you injured?” Dwalin growled out. 

This seemed to catch the rest of the dwarves attention, and more footsteps surrounded towards Sveilrun.

“I thought I heard her yelp earlier, but I couldn’t see her,” Thorin’s voice muttered, making her jolt back to consciousness, “Did one of the orcs get you? Let Oin look at it.”

“I’m fine,” the wolf’s rough voice growled, “It’s just a scratch.”

Sveilrun stood, but her legs that weren’t injured were sore, and the one that was injured seared with every movement, making her limbs shake with the very effort. She tried to shove her way past the dwarves, but she only made it a few steps before nearly crumpling onto the ground. With her out of the water the dwarves can see a long gash cut across her shoulder, the fur surrounding the injury matted in blood. Sveilrun’s pride begins to take over as she forces herself to keep walking despite the shivers that begin to wrack down her form. 

“That is much more than ‘just a scratch’,” Thorin argued, “Now let Oin look at it.”

Oin stepped forward and held out his hand to touch the wolf, but noticing his movement she curled back her lips in a snarl, forcing him to retract his hand. She kept her teeth bared even once the dwarf had backed away, “I can fix it myself if I shift back - where’s my bag?”

Thorin hesitated before walking to where he had left her bag and harness on the bank of the river before taking it to Sveilrun. He walked slowly towards her, seeing as she snarled at Oin for even stepping too close, he’d rather not face the wolf’s wrath. But the wolf didn’t show any sign of aggression and watched him with wide yellow eyes. He held out the harness in one hand and she carefully took it into her jaws before limping off towards the treeline. The dwarves watched her leave, but once she slipped between the trees she quickly fell from view. All of the dwarves returned to what they had been doing before the ordeal, except for Thorin. 

Thorin stared into the forest even after Sveilrun disappeared from sight, an uneasy feeling growing in his stomach. Minutes ticked by with no sign of her and his concern only grew. He knew she would be angry if he tried to follow after her, but the urge to check on her was growing. Eventually he gave in and stalked towards the treeline, none of the dwarves noticing or paying any mind as he left. Once he stepped into the forest, it only took a few moments to find the woman, and when he did he froze in his tracks. The woman sat with her back to the dwarf king in only a pair of loose fitting trousers. The tan skin of her back was completely bare to the chill air, the only thing obstructing his view of her being the large gash that ran across her shoulder blade. In comparison to the shaded darkness of the forest, she stood out like a beacon that was drawing him in. He couldn’t help but let his eyes trail over the taut muscles that made her shoulders and back as they moved slightly with her movements, his eyes drawn in by the faint scars that littered across her back.

Black ink that had been carved into the woman’s skin covered her back and hid some of the worse scars. The tattoo that covered her back was a form of script Thorin couldn’t read from where he stood, but he could see enough script to fill three or four pages of a book. The large tattoo was obviously done overtop of her scars, and helped to hide the worst of them. In that moment she looked far more fragile than he had ever seen her before, hunched over with her head down and slight shivers crawling over her skin, despite knowing that she was far stronger than most. He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, but Sveilrun was too preoccupied to notice him. 

In her hands was a long needle she had pulled from her bag with a thick string she had ripped from an article of clothing threaded through it. A gash like the one she was facing is much more difficult to heal than a broken bone; the skin-changer’s body was used to breaking and reforming bones with every shift and was accustomed to healing such injuries, but the shift between states wouldn’t fix this. No, unlike a broken hand, shifting could only make a gash worse, and the wound which had almost stopped bleeding as a wolf, began to cry rivers of crimson down the woman’s back. Her hands shook as she tied a thick knot on the end of the string and raised it the the top of her shoulder where the wound began. She managed to stab the needle through her skin, muffling her whimper from the pain, and thread it through part way, but her hands shook terribly and the needle fell from her grip. She hissed under her breath in frustration.

“Do you want help?” a murmured voice asked.

Sveilrun’s hands flew to cover herself, embarrassment flooding her cheeks as she looked over her shoulder and found Thorin’s hooded gaze watching her. 

Sveilrun forced a scoff from her lips, “This is nothing, I don’t need your help.”

“I never said you did,” Thorin replied, already familiar with the woman’s sense of pride, and walked closer to her, “But it would go much faster if you let me do it.”

Sveilrun sputtered slightly as she searched for a response; she knew he was correct, it would be much easier and faster if she let him sew her wound shut. Her hands shook too much for her to do it properly, and she was far too lightheaded from blood loss to concentrate on the wound. Turning away from the dwarf and fixing her gaze on the ground in front of her, she hissed back, “Fine, just do it quickly.”

Thorin walked the rest of the distance between them and sat on the ground behind her, making her jump slightly. Now that Thorin was closer to the woman, he could make out what the tattooed script wrote out on her back. She was covered in names. Tiny written names covered most of her back; the first four were Ylva, Caesar, Favian, and Ronan, and the stood on the top of the rest - showing to be more important in some way. Thorin tried to ignore the tattoos, feeling as if he were intruding on something private, and instead leaned forward to begin his work.

“Just,” Sveilrun stuttered, “Just don’t look, or you’ll regret it.”

“What would you do, bleed on me?” Thorin muttered sarcastically as he gently lifted the needle that hung on the string from her wound, but at her sharp glare of warning said, “Don’t worry, your modesty is safe with me. Now sit still unless you want it to scar crooked.”

Sveilrun hunched forward slightly, partly to give him a better view of the gash on her shoulder, and partly to ensure her breasts were covered from his sight. She couldn’t help but jump when he rested his palm against her back, but stilled when she felt the tip of the needle pierce her skin. His hand was extremely warm against her skin, and proved to be a distraction for the woman. It was a rare moment when she felt anything akin to physical contact; she had not felt the most simplest of sensations of someone laying a gentle hand upon her in many moons. The feeling of warmth and comfort that it brought her made her forgetful of the needle stitching her wound together, and she closed her eyes as she began to relax against his touch. She allowed her mind to wander as a heavy, delightful scent surrounded her, and she let out a shuddered sigh of relief. The distinct scent warmed her almost as much as his hand against her back, and she breathed it in greedily. A stream of words repeated over and over again in her head, only this time she didn’t feel the same desire to deny them. ‘Soulmate, companion, intended one.’ The three different words repeated like a mantra, but they all held the same meaning. The skin-changer felt the dwarf king’s fingers brush against the back of her neck as he swept her long hair over her shoulder and shivered slightly at the sensation. A sudden sick feeling fell in her stomach as she felt his fingers pause on her neck, tracing over another tattoo that covered her neck in surprise, traced over the tattoo she had not gotten voluntarily. The dwarf king was surprised because this tattoo was written in Black Speech, but he couldn’t read whatever it said, but he knew better than to ask and Sveilrun was glad for it. 

“Are you cold?” Thorin’s voice snapped Sveilrun from her trance.

Sveilrun’s face heated once again. She kept her gaze fixed on a blade of grass in front of her and replied with an uneven voice, “Just a bit.”

“I’m almost done,” Thorin reassured, “Just a few more minutes.”

The rise of disappointment that filled her chest surprised the skin-changer, because she knew once he lifted away his hands she would deny herself such a sensation from happening again. Sveilrun already knew what happened to intended ones who were not both of skin-changer blood. She had watched it happen to her mother and father, and refused to go through the same pain and suffering. She also knew of the loneliness that would await her, but it seemed preferable at the time. The skin-changer had been living with such loneliness for more years than she could count, surely she could continue in such a way.

Once thorin finished and removed his hands from the woman, the warmth that had filled her before vanished, and in its place a cold emptiness was left behind. The dwarf king used a scrap of rag to wipe of the blood that had flowed down the woman’s back, watching as the wound already stopped bleeding because of the skin-changers ability to self-heal. He paused for a moment before standing to his feet and backing away a few feet. Sveilrun leaned forward and opened her bag, pulling out a worn tunic that was still damp from the river. She had a difficult time raising her arm without wincing at the movement, but she managed to get the piece of clothing on. Standing to her feet with her bag in hand she let her sights flicker to Thorin and found him watching her with an intense, hooded stare.

Clearing her throat, Sveilrun lifted her head to try and regain whatever pride she had left and muttered, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Thorin replied, his gaze not leaving the woman, as he continued almost apologetically, “The wound might scar.” 

“That’s fine,” averting her eyes once again, the skin-changer remarked, “You were right, we need to keep moving before the orcs have a chance to catch up. Lets return to the dwarves and think of a plan.”

The dwarf king looked as if he was going to say something, but changed his mind and simply nodded. The two made their way back to the dwarves and hobbit in silence, neither of them knowing or wanting to say anything. When they exited the tree line they found the company as they were before; getting water out of various articles of clothing or tending to Kili, but their entrance caught the attention of the dwarves who all looked up from what they were doing. The reactions of the dwarves varied; Ori, Nori, Dori, Oin, Bifur, and Gloin didn’t seem to care and went back to what they were doing, Balin, Bombur, and Bofur chuckled to themselves but tried to cover it, Fili and Kili both blatantly stared not knowing what to think, and Dwalin just glared at Sveilrun.

Muttering underneath her breath about dwarves jumping to conclusions, Sveilrun stalks off to sit on the rocky shore away from the dwarves. She combs her hands through her damp dark hair in hopes of taming it, her head tilted slightly to listen for any approaching orcs, but also to eavesdrop on Dwalin who was hissing furiously to Thorin underneath his breath. Picking up everything Dwalin said was difficult with the other dwarves shuffling around and speaking to one another, but she got a basic idea. The grumpy bald dwarf was ‘reminding’ Thorin that he can’t get distracted by some conniving she-wolf. Suffice to say, Sveilrun had to stop herself from throwing a rock at the tattooed dwarf.

While Dwalin is muttering and grumbling to the dwarves’ leader, unbeknownst to them a man sneaks over the rocks of the river bank with a bow in hand. Sveilrun spots him as he notches an arrow and points it at Ori, who sat unaware of the assailant. Jumping to her feet, Sveilrun grabs a thick branch from the ground and stands between the man and the young dwarf. The man hesitates at the sight of the woman, but doesn’t lower his drawn bow. The rest of the dwarves spot the man as well and immediately move to attack, and momentarily distract the bowman. Sveilrun steps forward, lifting the branch to strike the man, but he’s not as distracted as she thinks and his arrow lodges into the branch in her hands. Her eyes widen in surprise as she drops the destroyed branch, and takes a quick step back. Kili raises his arm to throw a large rock, but the man is quicker and has an arrow hitting the rock from the dwarf’s hand. 

“Do it again, and you’re dead,” the man threatens, another arrow nocked and aimed at Fili and Kili.

Sveilrun’s hand slips into her bag, which is wrapped securely around her waist, and her fingers wrap around the handle of her dagger. Balin notices and holds out a cautious hand to stop the woman before turning to the man, “Excuse me, but, uh, you’re from Laketown, if I’m not mistaken?”

The man aims at Balin when he steps forward, but the dwarf keeps his hands raised as a show of docility and continues, “That barge over there, it wouldn’t be available for hire, by any chance?”

The man lowers his bow, watching the older dwarf closely before turning and walking back to his barge, “What makes you think I will help you?”

The company follows after the bargeman, but Balin is at the front and observes outloud, “Those boots have seen better days. As has that coat.”

The man ignores the dwarfs statement and instead begins loading the empty barrels the dwarves had onto this barge. Sveilrun observed the man as he loaded the barrels; he had dark hair that was partially tied back and looked as if it had not been properly washed in a while, and wore rough clothing that looked to have been repaired many times.

“No doubt you have some hungry mouths to feed,” Balin continued with a friendly demeanor that differed from the many grumpy dwarves behind him, “How many bairns?” 

The man paused for a moment before answering, “A boy and two girls.”

“And your wife, I’d imagine she’s a beauty.”

“Aye. She was,” the man answers with his back turned to the group. 

Balin’s smile quickly falls as he began stuttering apologies, “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“Oh, come on, come on, enough with the niceties,” Dwalin grumbled angrily to Thorin, interrupting Balin and catching the man’s attention.

“What’s your hurry?” the man asks.

“What’s it to you?” Dwalin replied.

“I would like to know who you are, and what you are doing in these lands,” the man responded, his eyes travelling over each individual in the company. 

“We are simple merchants from the Blue Mountains journeying to see our kin in the Iron Hills,” Balin lied easily, his friendly smile quickly returning. 

“Simple merchants, you say?” the man asks disbelievingly. 

“We’ll need food, supplies, weapons,” Thorin explains, stepping next to Balin, “Can you help us?”

The man studies Thorin for a moment before looking down at one of the barrels, his fingers brushing against one of the many nicks missing from the wood from when an orc shot it with an arrow, “I know where these barrels came from.”

“What of it?” Thorin responded defiantly. 

“I don’t know what business you had with the elves, but I don’t think it ended well,” The man observed before explaining, “No one enters Laketown but by leave of the Master. All his wealth comes from trade with the Woodland Realm. He will see you in irons before risking the wrath of King Thranduil.”

Boarding his barge, the man unties the ropes holding his barge before tossing them at Balin. Thorin looks to Balin and mouths, ‘Offer him more.’

“I’ll wager there are ways to enter that town unseen,” Balin coaxes.

“Aye. But for that, you will need a smuggler,” The man replies.

“For which we will pay - double,” Balin quickly negotiates.

The man’s eyes narrow suspiciously on the eager dwarf, but eventually he accepts, and the company has a way to cross the lake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Any reviews are appreciated!


	11. Sneaking into Laketown

The company stayed aboard the barge for the remainder of that day, and well into the night. If the air on the water had been cold in the daytime, it was most uncomfortable at night, and Sveilrun found herself pulling the rest of her clothing overtop of what she was already wearing. Sleeping on the barge was unsatisfying for the entire company; the dwarves got little sleep that night, and the skin-changer wasn’t able to sleep at all. Bard slept on and off as well, needing his rest, and Sveilrun was left to the lonesome of the night. She laid on the floor of the barge, an arm tucked under her head as a pillow, and listened to the dwarves snoring around her. Staring up at the sky, she allowed to mind to wander as she read the stars. The act of reading stars, while difficult and sometimes brought her headaches, was oddly comforting as it reminded her of home. She wasn’t skilled in star reading, it took many years to develop the skill and she only had a teacher for a few years. Different stars had different meanings, and during different seasons and moon fluctuations those meanings would change and develop. If certain stars rested too near or too far to where they were supposed to be everything would change and she would have to start over. This night, however, she was given a clear view of the night sky and an awake enough brain to study. This night, something seemed off. As she read and studied, her predictions only grew worse and worse, the next only adding to the gravity of the last. Every sign she found spoke of death and destruction quickly approaching, and as far as she could see there was no way to avoid what was to come. Even odder than the predictions of approaching death, was what she read from a single star on its own. She took in everything she could about this single star and the stars surrounding it, and came only to one conclusion; ‘new life’. 

Such opposing predictions were never found in the same sky, and it unnerved the woman greatly. Sveilrun sat up, not allowing her eyes to leave the sky as she looked for anything telling her she was wrong, as if the few inches of added height would make any difference.

“Wha’s wrong?” a groggy voice whispered nearby. Looking down she found a barely awake Thorin looking up from his lying position with half shut eyes.

“Nothing,” Sveilrun lied quickly, “Sorry for waking you.”

She laid back down and rolled on her side so she didn’t face the dwarf king. Her mind went through possible explanations for what she had seen; perhaps she was wrong? She had never been the best at star reading and has been wrong before, but every sign she read spoke of the same thing. Her mind was in a puzzled mess, and she knew it best not to speak of what she found until she was sure. If she were wrong she would only look like a fool, and the dwarves may not believe her prediction either way. So for now, she decided, she would wait and see what time would bring. 

Sveilrun stayed at the back of the barge near the man as he steered through the water the next day. It was the least crowded place on the small, and fairly cramped vessel, as the dwarves had packed themselves in the front as far away from the man as they could get. The water on the lake was beginning to fill with small chunks of ice as a mist formed around them. The air at night was much cooler than it was during the day, but a chill still creeped over Sveilrun’s skin. Dark bags cling underneath the skin-changers eyes; she had not slept the entire night as her predictions would not give her any peace of mind. It also did not help that they were aboard a small barge with a stranger. Those things mixed together made it nearly impossible for her to get any sleep. Plus it did not help that with the coming of day an aching started deep in her bones once again, but it was thankfully not as bad as before as the sky was dark from fog and cloud, and tricked her mind into thinking it later in the day. Still, she was not in the best of comforts. Added as a lovely finishing touch, the injury on her shoulder throbbed painfully, leaving her in a near constant state of disadvantage.

“If I may ask,” the man, or Bard as she earlier learned, inquired the skin-changer, “Why do you travel with the dwarves if they are visiting their kin?”

“I have kin of my own in the Withered Heath,” Sveilrun replied, folding her arms across her chest, “Travelling as a group is safer.”

“Aye, it is dangerous for women to travel alone in these lands,” Bard nodded, “But I have not heard of any man villages residing in the Withered Heath.”

“That’s because there aren’t any,” Sveilrun stated, her brown eyes narrowing on the man, “And I meant it was safer for the dwarves; I do not need the protection of any man or dwarf.”

“No disrespect intended,” Bard chuckled, “But you do not look like you could offer them much protection.” 

“No disrespect intended,” Sveilrun retaliated trying to keep the venom from her tone, “But looks can be deceiving. I don’t suggest falling prey to assumptions.”

Sveilrun leaned forward slightly to catch Bard’s attention, and when his dark eyes flickered to her’s he was met with pupils that shined a brilliant, malicious yellow. “You’re right,” Sveilrun chuckled, “No man village lies on the Withered Heath - too many beasts roam those mountains.”

Letting her eyes warm back to a light brown, Sveilrun huffed and left the man in a stunned silence to sit on the other side of the barge with the dwarves. Thorin stood a few steps away from the dwarves next to the rows of empty barrels. As she walked past he asked in a humoured tone, “Making friends?”

“Oh yes, by the end of the trip we ought to be braiding eachothers hair and conversing about suitable mates,” Sveilrun responded, sarcasm practically dripping from her tongue as her lips quirked into a smirk, “I don’t know how I don’t have more friends - I’m such a lovely person.”

“In between threatening elf princes and killing orcs?” the dwarf king asked, his lips forming a similar, but less sarcastic, smirk.

“What can I say, loveliness only lasts for so long,” she quipped, glad that their encounter the day before didn’t leave lasting awkwardness, “It would take someone special to see any loveliness in the likes of me.”

“Then I must be a rare person indeed,” Thorin muttered under his breath, loud enough for the skin-changer to hear but not anyone else, “To be intended for someone so lovely.” 

His hand lightly brushed hers at their side, most definitely not an accident as his fingers gently and slowly nudged in between hers. His blue eyes examined hers for a moment, a hint of a smirk still playing on his lips as he waited to see her reaction. His thumb traced over the back of her hand, a feather light touch that made a shiver crawl up her arm. Sveilrun’s heart instantly leapt into her throat, and she quickly tore her eyes away from his before she could do anything she’d regret or show any sign of her hidden emotion.

Pulling her hand away from his she muttered a silent, “Don’t be ridiculous, I am intended for no one,” before briskly putting space between her and the dwarf king. She could feel Thorin’s gaze on her back, practically burning through her, as she walked away. Albeit was a difficult task to get away from him as they were stuck on a barge, but she managed to find a spot slumped on the floor next to Ori against the barrels where Thorin's eyes could not follow. Her heart continued to pound painfully against her chest, but not the kind of beat she would get from running for too long or missing a step, it was a constricting feeling in her chest she was not familiar with. Even when the men, and on occasion the women, in her village made their interests in her clear, she did not experience this level of emotion that it made her heart constrict and her face burn. She could not tell if it were an enjoyable feeling, as so far it only gave her deep anxiety, but it made her wonder if she would have moved away so quickly if not for her strong headset to stay away from the dwarf. 

But an even larger matter overpowered her unfamiliar reaction; did Thorin know they were intended ones? His words would make it seem that way, but how could he possibly know? She hadn’t told him, and although she did tell him a brief summary of what intended ones are she made it clear that hers was most likely dead. This new revolution only strengthened Sveilrun’s will to not allow herself to become distracted by the dwarf king. The moment her job was done she would be gone and she would not look back at the line of Durin again. 

Sveilrun sighs to herself, running a hand through her hair which was already beginning to knot terribly. Her eyes glanced around herself and eventually landed on Ori, who sat scribbling something in a notebook. She couldn’t think of how the notebook possibly made it through the river rapids, but decided not to ponder on it. Glancing over his shoulder, she was met with a beautifully drawn picture of the river the dwarves almost had the pleasure of drowning in. The drawing displayed the wild rapids of the river, an array of barrels filled with disgruntled dwarves being dragged down by the currents, and in the far background a wolf ran along the bank of the river, a snarl set on its face. Even though the drawing was only in the beginning stages, it already showed a vast amount of movement that many are incapable of showing in their works. 

“You are able to draw from memory alone?” Sveilrun found herself asking.

Ori jumped slightly in surprise, but when his eyes met the skin-changer’s a friendly smile lit up his features, and he answered with a simple, “Sometimes.”

“It is very good,” Sveilrun complimented, making the young dwarf’s eyes light up.

“Thank you,” Ori replied earnestly and held out his notebook to the woman, “Would you like to look?”

Sveilrun wordlessly took the leather bound book and opened it to the first page. The book was filled with drawings and sketches of everything that the company had experienced throughout their journey with written entrances in between. There were various portraits of all of the dwarves in the company making different expressions; some most likely knowing Ori was drawing them and purposely posing themselves to look more serious, but others not and wearing expressions of ease. There were also drawings of various sceneries; rolling green hills, tall mountains, a home she recognized as Beorn’s, and one of her own home. 

“These are lovely,” Sveilrun murmurs as she continues to flip through the pages, “My mother used to do something similar - had a big book filled with family portraits.”

“It’s a good way to pass the time,” Ori says, “Was your mother a good artist?”

“She was amazing,” Sveilrun replied, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, “She could make paintings that looked as if they were alive.”

“She sounds nice,” Ori responds.

“She was,” the skin-changer hummed in agreement and chuckled to herself, “She used to sneak my brothers sweets whenever they got in trouble with my father, she was never able to stay mad at them for long - if at all.”

“My mum did the same,” Ori grinned, “How many brother’s did you have?”

“Two; Ronan and Favian,” Sveilrun replied, “The two of them could get away with nearly anything when it came to my mother. Even when they brought a beaver home to keep as a pet she didn’t have it in her to get mad at them, they had the beaver for two days before my father even noticed.”

“What happened to the beaver?” Ori asked, a large humoured grin spread on his face.

“Well my father nearly killed it for ruining his favorite chair, but Favian ‘took it back to it’s natural home’ which ended up being a cave,” Sveilrun laughed silently, “He really didn’t know enough about beavers to try and keep one as a pet, but his heart was in the right place; he had such a weakness for animals, cried for a week after killing his first rabbit.”

Ori leaned closer by an inch and whispered with a barely concealed laugh, “Nori did something similar except it was a bear cub and my mum found it before he could even make it home. The cub’s mum wasn’t too happy.”

Ori and Sveilrun continued like that for a while, swapping childhood stories of mischief done by siblings or themselves. It didn’t take long for Fili and Kili to join them, but seeing as all of their stories were directed to annoy the other brother, Ori and Sveilrun quickly switched topics. After that they told old stories, myths, and legends, but seeing as the dwarfs all knew most of the same ones, Sveilrun did most of the talking. She told them of different fables and superstitions the wolf skin-changers used to have. She also explained moon festivals into further detail; that they were a celebration of both life and death and many skin-changers used them to find their intended ones - which led to a whole other, rather uncomfortable, conversation. The skin-changer quickly changed to other aspects of the moon festivals; like the giant bonfires, costumes made to look like wild beasts, and the music that was made by everyone in the village. She tried to describe the great drums and cellos that played for hours into the night, and the high, haunting voices of women that would accompany them, but it was difficult as she had not heard the music herself in many years and it was not something that could be impersonated by one person alone. 

“Watch out!” Bofur suddenly yells, snapping the small group from their conversation. Giant stone formations appeared out of the layers of mist and fog that Sveilrun hadn’t realized gathered, but they aren’t any problem as Bard easily poles the barge between the many rock formations.

“What are you trying to do, drown us?” Thorin snarled angrily at the man.

“I was born and bred on these waters, Master Dwarf,” Bard replied with a grim faced scowl, “If I wanted to drown you, I would not do it here.”

“Oh I have enough of this lippy lakeman,” Dwalin grumbled, “I say we throw him over the side and be done with him.”

“Ohh, Bard,” Bilbo huffed angrily, his arms crossed over his chest, “His name’s Bard.”

“How do you know?” Bofur asked,

“Uh, I asked him,” Bilbo retorted.

“I don’t care what he calls himself, I don’t like him.” Dwalin muttered towards Thorin, who walked closer to the group of dwarves, and to where the skin-changer could see him, making it momentarily impossible to pretend he doesn’t exist, watched the woman curiously.

“We do not have to like him, we simply have to pay him,” Balin says, piles of coins in small stacks set in front of him as he counted them out, “Come on now, lads, turn out your pockets.”

At once the dwarves begin to pull whatever coin they have on them and hand them to Balin, who counts it all out as he receives it. Sveilrun felt guilt pinch at her chest, she never carried coin with her because she never had need of it before now. Usually she would find or make anything she needed, and whenever the time arose that she would have to buy something she would try to barter with vegetables from her garden or fresh venison. 

“There’s, um, just a problem: we’re ten coins short.” Balin says grimly after counting through the coin again.

“Gloin,” Thorin says, “Come on. Give us what you have.”

“Don’t look to me,” Gloin immediately denies, “I have been bled dry by this venture! And what have I seen for my investment? Naught but misery and grief and-”

Gloin stops talking once he realizes that none of the dwarves were paying attention to him any more, and were instead staring out into the distance. Sveilrun, not being able to see from the floor with all of the dwarves now standing around her, quickly rises to her feet in curiosity. The fog had begun to thin around them, and in the distance they could see the towering shadow of the Lonely Mountain. Even Sveilrun could not help but feel at awe by the mountains sight, which was only furthered by the stunned excitement of the dwarves.

“Bless my beard,” Gloin whispers and immediately pulls out a small satchel filled with coin, handing it to Balin, “Take it. Take all of it.”

The dwarves are not able to enjoy the sight for long, as Bard quickly approaches the company at their end of the barge and says, “The money, quick, give it to me.”

“We’ll pay you when we get our provisions, but not before.” Thorin states.

“If you value your freedom, you’ll do as I say,” Bard says with a grave tone, “There are guards ahead.”

Through the heavy fog ahead of the barge, the rooftops of Laketown could be seen, but just barely.

“Quick, into the barrels,” Bard commands.

The dwarves all stand still, hesitant to trust the stranger, but at Thorin’s nod they all comply and begin climbing back into the barrels. Sveilrun counts out how many barrels they had versus how many members of the company there are and finds that they’re one barrel short. 

“There’s not enough barrels,” the skin-changer points out to the bargeman. 

“I know, for what I have planned you would not fit anyways,” Bard quickly says as he returns to the back of the barge to steer, “You look human, so if any of the guards ask you are a my distant kin traveling from Bree. Just- don’t do that eye thing and don’t talk. I’ll do all of the talking.”

Sveilrun rolled her eyes at the bargeman, but didn’t complain, and leaned against the side of the barge as they approached a dock outside of the city. Bard stops at the dock and hops off, making a signal at the skin-changer to stay where she is. She complies, but steps closer to the barrels to look at the dwarves huddled within. They all looked rather comical, curled up in the large barrels, and she chuckled low in her throat. Which earned her a few irritated glares in return, mostly from Dwalin. A ways from the company, Bard spoke to a man on the dock. 

“Shh, what’s he doing?” Dwalin hissed to Sveilrun.

“Talking to someone,” Sveilrun replied, her ears listening into Bard and the man’s conversation, “Now he’s pointing at the barrels.”

Sveilrun can see Thorin’s anxious stare from the corner of her eye but doesn’t look down, “Now they’re shaking hands.” 

“What?” Thorin hissed at the skin-changer, “Can’t you hear them, Sveilrun?”

“That villain! He’s selling us out,” Dwalin declared angrily.

Having heard every word of Bard and the man’s conversation, a long smile spreads on Sveilrun’s face, and she says with an eerily cheerful voice, “Don’t worry so much - everything is fine.”

The skin-changer wore a joyous grin as she watched the fourteen barrels become filled with dead fish. Best of all, because she stood the remainder of the barge ride as far from Thorin as she could get, she couldn’t even smell the horrible stench of the dead fish. The dwarves grumbled, gagged, coughed, and made other various sounds of their disgust, but were not allowed to move from the barrels. Sveilrun hadn’t felt happier through their travels then in that one moment. 

“Quiet!” Bard hisses, and kicks the barrel closest to him when one of the dwarves made too much noise, “We’re approaching the toll gate.”

Now that the barge was much closer to the city of Laketown, Sveilrun could get a much better view of everything and made a quick decision on her thoughts of the town; it was horrid. All of the buildings were old and in serious need of repair, some even leaning over, and even from just the gate she could tell that the people of Laketown were in similar conditions as their buildings. As they approached the toll gate, an old grey haired gatekeeper met them.

“Halt!” the gatekeeper called, and exited the small office he was stationed in, “Goods inspection. Papers, please. Oh, it’s you, Bard.”

“Morning, Percy,” Bard greeted, and walked forward to hand over some papers.

“Anything to declare?” the gatekeeper, Percy, asked.

“Nothing, but that I am cold and tired, and ready for home,” Bard replied

“Who’s the lass?” the gatekeeper asked, gesturing to the woman standing at the back of the barge.

“This is Ida, the daughter of my mother’s brother. She’s travelling from Bree, and like me, needs rest,” Bard introduces briefly.

“Well I suppose everything is in order,” the gatekeeper says, holding the papers out after stamping them. 

“Not so fast,” a man wearing all black formal clothing steps forward and snatches the paper from the gatekeepers hands. He reads over the paper and looks over the load with beady black eyes, “Consignment of empty barrels from the Woodland Realm. Only, they’re not empty, are they, Bard?”

The man carelessly tosses the stamped paper over his shoulder and steps forward, showing a few men dressed as the town guard behind him. Stepping onto Bard’s barge, the man picks up one of the dead fishes from the barrel and sneers, “If I recall correctly, you’re licensed as a bargeman, not a fisherman.”

“That’s none of your business,” Bard replies calmly. 

“Wrong,” the man taunts, “It’s the Master’s business, which makes it my business.”

“Oh come on, Alfrid, have a heart. People need to eat!” Bard exclaims.

“These fish are illegal,” the man, Alfrid, states loudly and throws the fish in his hand into the water. Turning to the guards he commands, “Empty the barrels over the side.”

The guards quickly comply and step onto the barge and towards the barrels. Knowing she can’t let the dwarves be caught, Sveilrun steps forward to stand in between the guards and the barrels, a nasty glare directed at Alfrid. Trying to keep her temper she asks with a voice filled with barely veiled anger, “Do you really think that’s smart?”

“And who are you?” Alfrid sneered, stepping forward to try and look down on the woman, but found that difficult as she was taller and held a much fiercer glare.

“Just a traveller, but even I can see the poor state your people are in,” Sveilrun spoke, “If you dump the little food they have back into the river than you’ll have riots on your hands. So I’ll ask again, do you really think that’s smart?”

Alfrid’s eyes narrowed angrily on the woman, but eventually called off the guards and Sveilrun was able to breath a sigh of relief. Giving the woman another sneer of blatant disgust, the greasy man stepped off of the barge.

“Raise the gate!” the gate keeper called.

The large portcullis that blocked the channel was raised, and Bard quickly poles the barge through. As they passed through, Alfrid shouted at the two, “The Master has his eye on you; you’d do well to remember. We know where you live.”

“It’s a small town, Alfrid; everyone knows where everyone lives,” Bard replied evenly.

As Bard poles the barge through the main channel through Laketown, Sveilrun is able to observe the poor town. Her first thought of the town was even more correct than she thought. The town truly was horrid; every building was shabby and old, the people wore clothes that resembled rags, the water was polluted, and everything would probably stink terribly if the skin-changer had the use of that sense.

“What happened to saying nothing?” Bard muttered underneath his breath to the skin-changer.

“That changed the moment you called me Ida, and completely disappeared when that filth tried to dump the dwarves,” Sveilrun muttered back, her nose crinkling in disgust, “Outright disrespect like that would have been met with a swift death in my village. If he speaks that way to me again I will end his sad family line for good.” 

Bard remained silent, but gave the skin-changer a reproachful gaze that spoke of his disagreement with her attitude (even if he wasn’t that fond of Alfrid). They remained silent for only a moment before Sveilrun spoke again, “You couldn’t think of a name better than ‘Ida’?”

“I didn’t exactly have that much time to think of one,” Bard muttered angrily.

“You could have called me by my actual name,” Sveilrun grumbled, “Now I’m stuck as ‘Ida’ until our departure.”

“Your true name doesn’t exactly sound like someone of my family,” Bard explains, “And Ida is a fine name, my grandmother’s name was Ida so stop complaining.”

“Why would you name me after your dead grandmother?” Sveilrun nearly shouted, but lowered her voice at the last second.

“It was all I could think of, and I never said she was dead,” Bard hissed under his breath.

“Your kind have unnaturally short lifespans,” Sveilrun scoffed, “If she is alive than your grandmother is truly a superior of your kind.”

Bard grumbled under her breath before admitting, “She’s not.”

“Obviously,” Sveilrun muttered before moving to the other end of the barge, feeling done with his presence.

Eventually Bard stops and docks the barge. Looking around himself, he quickly knocks down the closest barrel, and out falls one of the dwarves coughing with disgust but relieved to be free of the fish-filled barrel. Bard continues knocking over the barrels, but when he reaches Dwalin’s the large tattooed dwarf pulls himself up and growls, “Get your hands off me.”

The rest of the dwarves and the hobbit pull themselves out of the barrels without the assistance of Bard. They’re all covered in the grease and slime of cold fish oil, and wore expressions of disgust. A nearby dock keeper looks extremely startled at the dwarves sudden and strange appearance, but it only takes the slip of a coin and the promise of free fish for the man to keep his mouth shut. 

Sveilrun ends up standing in the centre of the long dock near Thorin, and her sense of smell momentarily returns with his closeness. The skin-changer nearly gags at the sudden, and extremely awful smell invading her nose. Not only from the slime covered dwarves, but from the very town itself.

“Smell something?” Thorin asks with a raised brow at Sveilrun’s expression of disgust. 

“Of course not,” the skin-changer quickly denies with a hushed tone, “You know I can’t smell anything.”

“Follow me,” Bard commands as he strides past the company to walk ahead of them, effectively wending Sveilrun and Thorin’s short conversation.

The docks they hurry down are empty, but Sveilrun can hear the bustle of what she assumes to be a market nearby, and keeps a close watch for any preying eyes. Some people are within eyesight, but none of them look up from what they’re doing and stay within the shadows of the buildings. It is as they are making there way down one of the docks that a young boy runs up to Bard.

“Da!” the boy calls, “Our house, it’s being watched.”

Bard pauses for a moment, a thoughtful expression on his face before speaking, “I have a plan.”


	12. Bard's Home

Bard, Sveilrun, and Bard’s son Bain travel quickly down the many docks that made up Laketown. The company of dwarves and a hobbit are nowhere to be seen, setting the skin-changer on edge. If they were to get into trouble she’d be too far off to help. Sveilrun is aware of the many spies of the town’s master watching them, as Bain had warned, and it made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. They walk up a rickety flight of stairs, bundles of food and other supplies in hand, and enter Bard’s old house. Bain opens the door to let Sveilrun in, and she’s given a moment to take in the home. It was not bad in size, considering the state of the town, and it looked to be kept fairly clean. A young girl stood in the next room and stared at the strange woman with wide, curious eyes. An elder girl stood in the kitchen and gave Sveilrun a confused glance, but when their father entered the home, and thought of the new woman was lost on them.

“Da!” the youngest daughter calls happily and runs into her father’s arms, “Where have you been?”

“Father!” the eldest does similarly as her younger sister and runs to hug her father, “There you are. I was worried.”

Bard hugs both of her daughters before handing the eldest his bag, “Here’s something to eat. Bain, get them in.”

“Da, who’s this woman?” the youngest girl asks her father as Bain makes his way down a set of stairs into the lower floor of the house. Bard doesn’t have time to answer properly as the skin-changer follows the young boy down the steps. She recognizes most would consider it rude to leave in the middle of an introduction, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care as her main concern was for the dwarves. Unadmittedly, most of her concern was for Thorin, but she tried to ignore that.

The lower part of the house is open to the water, but one corner is blocked from view, and in that corner is a wooden toilet. Sveilrun felt a surge of disgust to have her suspicions of where their waste goes confirmed, but what happens next brings a new happiness that smothers all disgust. Bain knocks on the wall near the toilet, and almost instantly Dwalin’s head raises from the toilet. 

“If you speak of this to anyone, I’ll rip your arms off,” the tattooed dwarf growls at the young boy. 

A long grin is spread on Sveilrun’s face, and she teases the dwarf as he pulls himself from the toilet, “I can’t decide which I prefer; seeing you covered in fish slime or watching you climb from a toilet.”

“Wipe that smirk off your face, Ida,” Dwalin retorts, before stalking up the stairs into Bard’s house. 

Once the tattooed dwarf left, Sveilrun pats young Bain’s shoulder and says, “I can help them, go see if your father needs anything.”

Bain simply nods before clambering back up the stairs. Sveilrun turns to help the next up, Bilbo, by grabbing onto the cloth of his jacket and hauling him up quite easily and setting him down on the floor. She directed the small hobbit towards the stairs before turning to the next dwarf and pulling him up. Lifting the hobbit was much easier than any of the dwarves and Sveilrun has a harder time supporting their weight, especially with an injured shoulder, but she knew the young lad would have an even harder time. Luckily most of the dwarves are able to pull themselves most of the way. Kili’s head pops up through the toilet, and instead of the cheerfulness that he usually greets the skin-changer with, his face is twisted in a pained scowl. Sveilrun doesn’t hesitate to grab the dwarf underneath his arms and haul him up with a pained grunt, her shoulder screaming in protest. Once the dwarf is up and on the floor, she brushes his messy dark bangs away from his paled skin to examine his pain stricken face. 

“You look even iller than before,” Sveilrun says with concern, her eyebrows pinched together.

“I’ll be fine,” Kili mutters.

Sveilrun’s lips press together in clear disbelief, but she simply commands, “Go upstairs, I’ll look at the wound when I come up.”

“Seriously, I’m f-”

“Don’t lie to me, Kili,” Sveilrun interrupts before the dwarf could finish his sentence, making his gaze drop in shame, and she briefly ran her hand over the top of his head in a show of affection, “I’ll be up in a minute.”

The young dwarf prince nods before limping up the stairs into Bard’s home. Sveilrun turns to help the next dwarf up, and continues this pattern until there is only one left, Thorin. By then the skin-changer was exhausted and incredibly sore; despite their size, the dwarves weren’t exactly light, especially Bombur, and the wound across her shoulder was not helping. Thorin pulls himself into the house without the woman’s assistance at seeing how lethargic she looked.

“How is your shoulder?” He asks, grabbing the skin-changer’s sleeve before she can walk up the stairs.

“Just sore,” Sveilrun replied coldly, brushing his hand away, “It will pass.”

Thorin looked as if he wished to speak, especially when she brushed away from him, but decided against it and kept his mouth shut. The two of them made their way upstairs and find the rest of the company waiting with fresh clothing a few sizes too big for them and blankets wrapped around their shoulders. Some were still in the other room changing into their new clothing, while others were wrapped in blankets and placing their wet gear in front of a crackling fire. Bard’s youngest daughter weaved in between the dwarves with a stack of blankets in her arms, handing them out to whomever didn’t have one already. 

Noticing the two, Bard hands Thorin a faded red shirt and tells the dwarf, “It may not be the best fit, but it’ll keep you warm.”

Thorin nods his thanks before going off to change. The eldest daughter of Bard found Sveilrun and held out a worn blue dress for the woman, “It may be a bit big for you, but it should fair better than what you have.”

Sveilrun took the dress thankfully, having already noticed the poor shambles her layers of tunics were in. She followed the young woman, who she learned was named Sigrid from a brief introduction, to one of the bedrooms in the house to change in privacy. It doesn’t take long for the skin-changer to rid herself of the old shirts and slip on the blue dress over her pants. Being shorter than Sigrid, the dress was indeed slightly loose on her form, but it was much better than the tattered remains of her layered tunics. Sveilrun wrapped her harness back around her waist once the dress was on, wearing it similarly as a belt with the two saddlebags hanging from her hips. 

Being the first time in what felt like months that the skin-changer was able to change in a room, and not in the darkness of the woods where one of the dwarves could easily cross her path, she allowed herself a moment to enjoy the privacy it gave her. A looking glass sat on an old dresser and she picked it up with tentative hands, and wasn’t surprised with what she found. Her hair was a terrible mess. The wavy, dark brown hair was frizzy and knotted horribly, with strands stuck up in random places. Groaning in frustration, her brown eyes wander until they land on a hairbrush. Taking it, she roughly tears through the knots littering her hair until she manages to get her dark hair relatively smooth once again, but at the cost of her scalp screaming at her in protest. Picking up one of her more ruined tunics, the skin changer rips off a thin piece and uses it to tie back her hair in a rough braid. Albeit she was never skilled at braiding her hair, so many strands stuck out where they shouldn’t, but it kept her hair from her face so the skin-changer didn’t care. 

The sudden memory of her promise to look at Kili’s leg breaks the woman from her moment of peace, and she quickly leaves the bedroom to search for the dwarf prince. It doesn’t take long to find him, leaning against the wall in the corner, looking like he was trying his best to look fine and failing horribly. Grabbing one of the chairs around Bard’s dining table, Sveilrun carried it to the dwarf and set it down before him, pointing at it expectantly. 

Kili sighs and tries to argue, “I’m fine, truly,” but stops at the harsh glare coming from the skin-changer. 

Complying, he slumps down into the wooden chair, hissing from his quick movement. Sveilrun kneels down next to the chair and moves the tear in the dwarfs pants to get a better look at the arrow wound. An ooze, that was much too dark to be blood, dripped from the wound and smeared across the dwarf’s pants. Dark splotching bruises surrounded the injury, and his veins around the wound began to turn black. 

“This is far worse than a normal arrow wound, Kili!” Sveilrun hissed at the dwarf, making him look away in embarrassment, unintentionally calling everyone else's attention, “This should have been treated at the river, and you know it!”

Standing to her feet, the skin-changer immediately sought out Bard and commanded, “Kili is going to need a bed or something comfortable to lie on. Along with that I need hot water, whatever rags you can find, and I need to see what collection of herbs you have.”

“Are you sure that’s necess-” Bard began to question the woman, but she interrupts him before he can finish.

“I have been alive longer than this miserable town has existed, and if it weren’t for me half the population wouldn’t be alive to see it,” the skin-changer snapped, her brown eyes shifting to a luminous yellow as the wolf surfaced, and she stepped forward to stare the tall man down, “Do not challenge what I am and am not sure of, because I can assure you it will not end well. Now, Kili is suffering from a poison and will need a bed, hot water, rags, and I need to see whatever supply of herbs you have.”

Bard took a brief step back at the skin-changers sudden burst of anger and nodded his head compliantly. Turning back to the dwarf, the skin-changer held out an arm to help support his weight and lead him towards a bedroom that Bard indicated to. As Sveilrun helped Kili settle onto the bed, he asked with a strained voice, “Was it really necessary to snap at him?”

“No,” The skin-changer replied honestly, all signs of anger completely gone, “But people tend to move faster when I raise my voice.”

Deciding that Kili’s placement is adequate, Sveilrun nods to herself before exiting the room in search of the other supplies. She finds Sigrid boiling water over the fire and Bard in the kitchen pulling out every store of herbs he can find, even the cooking ones. Sveilrun picks up the nearest jar to examine the herb and says in dismay, “You already ground your herbs? I can’t tell them apart like this.”

“I can tell you the names,” Bard offers.

“The common names mean nothing to me, all of my knowledge of medicines is in my language - and being the last of two that can speak the language - there's no way to translate,” Sveilrun replies, her eyebrows pinching together in alarm.

A sudden idea comes to the skin-changer. She looked up from the herbs to find an array of dwarves watching her, all of them wearing various expressions of concern or curiosity, it only takes her a moment to find the dwarf she’s looking for.

“Thorin, come here,” She requests. 

Thorin doesn’t hesitate to break through the group of dwarves and stand next to the skin-changer, watching her with a similar curiosity as the others. Without a moment for second thought, the skin-changer discreetly takes the hand of the dwarf king in her own under the table. Almost instantly a range of scents fills her nostrils. If she cannot tell the herbs apart by sight she will have to by smell. Pleased with the new sense, she hastily begins picking up the different jars of crushed herbs and lifting them to her nose. Learning the ways of herbs as a child proved useful now as a storage of knowledge came back to her; in her younger days she had learned everything there is about herbs from their scent, before she lost her sense she named them all to remember what qualities they held. Sveilrun’s able to begin arranging the selection of herbs accordingly, naming them underneath her breath in a language that to others sounded like a series of growled murmurs. She felt lucky for once that no one spoke her language, as the names she had given the various plants as a child were rather embarrassing, such as ‘tail tuffs’, ‘red-rain’, and ‘lying berries’. She couldn’t remember how she came up with any of the names- ‘lying berries’ weren’t even berries, and they certainly couldn’t lie. But despite that she’s able to remember the effects of each plant and what happens when they are mixed. 

Without breaking her hand from Thorin’s, Sveilrun grabs a wooden bowl and begins mixing different amounts for each herb that she needs, making various adjustments and calculations in her head. She had to treat a similar wound on Beorn and on Ronan, Beorn after they had escaped the orc prison, and Ronan after the first orc attack on the village, but both men were much bigger than Kili and needed a stronger mixture than he would. 

“I thought you could only use your sense of smell if you had found your intended one?” Thorin questioned knowingly, watching the skin-changer as she worked, his hand clasping onto hers as tightly as hers held his. 

“Now is not the time, Thorin,” Sveilrun muttered silently, not looking up as she continued to work, but her ears flushed red with embarrassment, “I am more concerned for your nephew than for my renewed sense.”

Sigrid brings over a large metal pot filled with hot water, a cloth wrapped around it so it doesn’t burn the young woman’s hands. Taking the hot water from Bard’s daughter, Sveilrun carefully pours a small amount of the hot liquid into the bowl full of mixed herbs and begins to mix everything into a warm, mushy paste. Once she completed the mixture, she hastily dropped Thorin’s hand, and carried the hot water and wooden bowl into the room Kili rested in. Setting her supplies onto a side table, she rolled up her sleeves and mentally prepared for what was to come next. It wouldn’t be pretty.

Turning to the pale dwarf who watched the skin-changer with openly concerned eyes, she leaned over and told him honestly, “The process of cancelling the poison's effects isn’t going to be easy nor pleasant for you, and it’s going to be rather painful. It would be much faster if it were being treated with Elvish medicine, but as it is I’ll have to use a different, longer method, which quite frankly is going to hurt more than a hot-poker to the eye.” 

Kili released a shuddered sigh before nodding his head in understanding, his hands clutching onto the material covering the bed. Sveilrun’s features briefly pinched in sympathy for what was to come, but quickly returned to cold indifference. It would do no one good to get emotional. 

Taking some of the herbal mixture onto her fingers, she hastily spread the paste over his wound before it could cool down, making the dwarf groan loudly in obvious pain, and quickly looked up to speak to the many dwarves watching from the doorway in concern, “Someone’s going to have to hold him down.”

~~~

The skin-changer sat in the corner of Bard’s home, her body curled into a chair, as she rested her head against the wall. She sat next to a small open window and the slight breeze that came through felt marvelous on her overheated skin. Her muscles were no longer in pain, in fact she could barely feel anything. Sveilrun knew she wouldn’t be able to stand from the chair even if a hoard of orcs came through the roof, she was far too tired. Weights on her eyelids forced them shut, but she couldn’t find the relief of sleep. The only feeling she did have besides the sapping of all her energy, was a deep throbbing pain in her thigh speaking of the magic she had used.

Sveilrun was successful in healing Kili’s wound, but the type of magic she was forced to use was old and had been untouched by her for hundreds of years. It took much more out of her than she remembered it having had before. The premise of skin-changer healing was transferring energy from one person to another, to let them sap off of the wolf’s healing abilities, but it left the healer without the ability to heal themselves for days or weeks, and often left them with the feeling of whatever injury they had healed. It was not something Sveilrun would have used without the absolute need to. 

The dwarves were settled around Bard’s home away from the skin-changer, wanting to give her some space, but would let their eyes roam to her periodically. The ordeal with Kili had not gone well; the dwarf prince had kicked and thrashed against their holds, screaming all the while as the skin-changer healed him. Just as frightening as Kili’s suffering; as the woman spoke in a language none understood, Sveilrun slowly began to turn sickly pale, her voice wavering until the growls of her language became whimpers, and a sheen of sweat formed on her brow. The moment she finished, she forced herself to leave the room, almost stumbling to the floor more than once, and collapsed into the chair in the corner. Kili was still resting in the bed he had been healed in, the wound on his thigh stitching itself together with the energy borrowed from the skin-changer. 

None of the dwarves dared approach Sveilrun, knowing from the way her eyes occasionally flickered that she was not asleep, and wouldn’t like to be approached. It was Thorin who eventually brought himself to silently move to the woman’s side. Of course, she heard his footsteps and easily guessed who it was, but didn’t acknowledge his presence. She faintly felt a weight drape over her form, most likely a blanket or cloak, and heard the scraping of a chair being moved to sit next to her.

“You’re not supposed to do that,” she heard herself murmur, the words coming out as a soft whisper, but she didn't feel the words leave her mouth, “Not supposed to touch.”

“You can hit me for it later,” she vaguely heard a deep voice reply, and a slight weight rested on her arm. She only barely heard his reply as sleep finally overpowered insomnia and she drifted into the dark recesses of slumber. 

~~~

“Veili!” the sudden thundering of footsteps was followed by the woman being swept off her feet and into the air. Sveilrun released a silent squeak of surprise at suddenly being lifted into the air, and looked down to see the happiest blue eyes staring back at her.

“Favian! Put me down!” Sveilrun yelled, but her angry tone was ruined when she began laughing at his antics. Like her mother, the young skin-changer was never able to stay angry at her brothers for more than a few minutes.

The tall man that had grabbed her had dark brown hair that fell from a messy pony tail, and shining blue eyes that were filled with joy. Having inherited their father’s tall stature, unlike their mother’s short height which Sveilrun had, her brother easily towered over her and lifted her as easily as he would a rag doll. Holding his older sister in a crushing hug, he spun her around and proclaimed loudly, “I found her, Veili! I found her!”

“Nice to see you too, brother. You’ve been gone for months and this is the greeting I get?” Sveilrun managed to ask with the limited air she had in his strong grasp.

Just then the unmistakable features of Ronan rounded the corner of the path at a sprint. Upon seeing his two siblings he stumbled to a sudden stop, which almost ended with a face full of dirt, and let out a frustrated huff.

“I told you not to run off!” the middle of the three siblings yelled at the youngest, his hands resting on his knees as he caught his breath. 

“I told you not to take so long,” Favian retorted, sticking out his tongue childishly at the blond man.

Ronan scowled at his younger brother before stealing the woman from his arms to give her a hug. Ronan was even larger than Favian, although both of them were not quite the size of their father yet who stood at almost ten feet tall, and if he had not been careful with his older sister he easily would have smothered her.

“It’s good to see you again, Veili,” Ronan murmured before setting her back on her feet, “I only wish that you could have come with us.”

“Someone had to stay and watch father,” Sveilrun replied, her tone suggesting not to touch the topic any further than that, before turning back to Favian, “Now, who did you find?”

“Her! My intended one!” Favian responded, his smile so big it looked almost painful, “She lives in the village north of here!”

“That poor girl is going to be stuck with him for an eternity,” Ronan quipped, earning a glare from Favian and a muffled laugh from Sveilrun.

“You’re just jealous that my intended one actually lives nearby,” Favian retorted, “You have to travel for over a week just to see Faynor.”

Ronan glared at Favian and made the slightest movement with his head towards Sveilrun, a clear signal to stop talking. Sveilrun rolled her eyes at her two younger brothers, “I’m fine without you two stepping on eggshells around me.”

“We just don’t want to upset you, Veili,” Ronan replied, rubbing the back of his neck in discomfort. 

“I’ll find my intended one when I’m supposed to,” Sveilrun waved off their concern, but couldn’t help but feel the stab of loneliness in her chest, “Now come back to the cottage and you can tell me about your travels.”

~~~

When Sveilrun awoke next, it was not to the feeling of restfulness that sleep was supposed to bring. The deep throbbing of a migraine split through her skull like an axe, making her feel very much like Bifur, and the lethargy that clung to her muscles left her more tired than before she had slept. A sharp pain creaked through her neck when she moved to sit up, followed by a rolling nausea in her gut, and she quickly regretted her uncomfortable sleeping arrangements. A muffled groan escaped her lips as she slumped forward, planting her face in her open palms, and praying to whoever would listen to not get sick.

"Are you alright?" A deep voice, which she easily recognized as Thorin's, asked silently. 

"I'd be lying if I said yes," the skin-changed groaned, and finally opened her eyes to look up at the dwarf king.

It was still daylight, the sun shining through the window which lay ajar above her. Thorin stood next to the skin-changer, leaning against the wall in front of the window and blocking any sunlight from hitting her, likely on purpose to give her a longer rest. 

"Kili?" Sveilrun asked, leaning back in the chair and folding her arms across her chest, as if to try and hold onto some composure, “How is he? How long was I asleep?”

"He's still resting, as you should be," Thorin replied, raising a single brow at her expectantly, “You only slept a few hours.”

Sveilrun simply waved him off, huffing silently to herself.

"Kili's wound has almost completely healed. According to Oin, if you had not done what you had, Kili would have died." Thorin explained, a small smile pulling at the edge of his lips as he watched the woman closely, "The line of Durin owes you much."

"You helped me when I was unable to stitch my own wound, and could have easily bled out," Sveilrun grumbled, "Consider us even."

Thorin nodded compliantly, realizing the skin-changers difficulties with looking weak in any way. He already knew that even if he hadn't helped her by the river, she still would have put herself through healing Kili, even with the obvious drawbacks she was suffering from. She was fond of the two dwarf princes, even if she rarely showed it. He kept his blue eyes fixed on the woman as he thought of everything that had happened, but her gaze was caught by something else past the dwarf's shoulder.

"Is that . . ." Sveilrun's brown eyes squinted and she gestured towards the window behind Thorin, "A Dwarvish Windlance?"

Thorin turned to peer out the window, his eyes easily finding the great metal weapon that resembled a crossbow with four long arms. Both Sveilrun and Thorin pause in mild shock, having not expected to see such a weapon in Laketown.

The sudden squeak of Bilbo’s voice announcing loudly, “Sveilrun! How are you feeling?” broke Sveilrun’s gaze from the Windance. Looking down at the Hobbit, who wore clothes far too big that hung from his frame and held two mugs that looked large in his small hands, she couldn’t help the small smile that tugged on her lips.

“As well as can be expected,” the woman replied. 

“Here, have some of this,” Bilbo offered and handed her a cup of steaming tea, “Should help wake you up a bit.”

“Thank you, Master Baggins,” Sveilrun said gratefully, and took the cup into her hands, already comforted by the warmth it spread through her fingers.

Taking a sip from his own tea, Bilbo looks over at Thorin, who still stood staring out the window, and commented, “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“He has,” Balin says, stepping forward next to Sveilrun to look out the window as well, “The last time we saw such a weapon, a city was on fire. It was the day the dragon came.”

Memories of the burning city of Dale brought upon a somber mood to the skin-changer, and she let the cup of tea rest in her lap untouched. Her memories of the event had dimmed over the years, but she could still remember the terrible screams, the roaring fires that scorched the wolf’s dark fur, and the great thundering flaps of the dragon’s wings. She had helped many of the people of Dale escape the burning city, but not everyone could be saved and her powers only extended so far.

“The day that Smaug destroyed Dale,” Balin began to tell the tale, “Girion, the Lord of the city, rallied his bowmen to fire upon the beast. But a dragon’s hide is tough, tougher than the strongest armor. Only a black arrow, fired from a wind-lance, could have pierced the dragon’s hide, and few of those arrows were ever made. His store was running low when Girion made his last stand.”

“Had the aim of Men been true that day, much would have been different,” Thorin grumbled angrily. 

Sveilrun’s eyes narrowed on Thorin, feeling displeased with his tone. She already knew that Thorin would have been in Erebor during the dragon’s attack, dealing with their own problems, and wouldn’t have been as close to the attack on Dale as she had been.

“It is not as easy as you think to shoot a flying dragon, Thorin,” Sveilrun muttered with an angry tone, earning confused glances from the dwarves listening.

“You both speak as if you were there,” Bard observed, approaching the small group. 

“All dwarves know the tale,” Thorin explained, folding his arms across his chest.

“I,” Sveilrun announced, “was actually there, and didn’t hear about it from a story.”

“Why were you in Dale?” Thorin asked.

Sveilrun cleared her throat awkwardly and admitted, “I had some kin in Dale I was looking for.”

“How? I thought all of the skin-changers had been killed?” Bilbo questioned.

“What’s a skin-changer?” Bard questioned, but everyone ignored him.

“The kin I had in Dale weren’t skin-changers, my mother was from the race of men,” Sveilrun’s sudden reveal of ancestry was met with a surprised silence, “Were all of you foolish enough to think I am a full-blooded skin-changer? You all saw how tall Beorn is.”

“I just assumed the wolf skin-changers were shorter than the bears,” Balin admitted.

“My father was over nine feet tall,” Sveilrun stated, earning wide eyes of surprises from the dwarves, but didn’t want to delve further into the topic than that. Luckily Bain interrupted any further questions on her ancestry.

“If you were there then you would know that Girion hit the dragon. He loosened a scale under the left wing. One more shot and he would have killed the beast,” the young lad exclaimed surely. 

 

“That’s a fairy story, lad,” Dwalin chuckled, earning a muffled undignified huff of disagreement from Sveilrun, which went ignored, “Nothing more.”

Impatience quickly overtook Thorin, they were gaining nothing by standing around and arguing about the past. Striding up to Bard he said, “You took our money. Where are the weapons?”

The grim-faced man paused, his gaze evaluating for a moment, for replying, “Wait here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	13. Dwarves Aren't Sneaky

Thorin and Fili left the main room to go check on Kili and speak in private. Sveilrun remained in her seat in the corner of the room, too tired to yet get up, and thankfully the other dwarves saw this and left her to rest. Under normal circumstances she would feel the need to shift into the great wolf itching at her skin, but she was far too lethargic to move, much less shift. As her gaze was locked on the bright sky outside the small cracked window, the old mantra circled around her thoughts; ‘don’t let them see you in the daytime, it’s too dangerous’. Sveilrun reached forward and shut the window, clasping it shut tightly and flicking the old curtains over the window, blocking some of the light from entering. Even after so many years, being in her human skin during the day unsettled her profoundly. Without the realization her thumb had begun to trace the scars that were littered across her wrists. 

Turning her back to the window as best as she could without actually standing, she looked down at the tea in her hand and found it dead cold. Despite its lack of heat she quickly gulped it down, feeling grateful to the hobbit, and was happy to find it helped fight the drowsiness that had seeped into her bones. Knowing it wouldn't last long, she stood from the chair, using the wall to steady herself, and slowly made her way to the room Kili rested in. She tried not to let how tired she was show, and had a very difficult time being discreet, but thankfully none of the dwarves made a fuss. Slipping into the small bedroom, she found Thorin and Fili standing over Kili who sat propped up against the headboard of the bed. Kili still looked sickly; his skin was as white as the sheets he laid on, a sheen of sweat covered his skin, and his eyes were glazed over with exhaustion. The three were in the midst of a hushed conversation, but Sveilrun couldn’t find it in herself to care that she was interrupting him. 

“You should be asleep,” Sveilrun chided the young dwarf prince, but her tone held a softness that it usually did not. 

“As should you be,” Thorin grumbled, “You can barely stand.”

“I wasn’t speaking to you, Thorin,” Sveilrun muttered coldly as she moved around the bed to sit on a chair next to Kili, lifting up the edge of the blanket to inspect the wound, and explained to the three Durin's, “I merely extracted the poison, Kili still has an arrow wound, although it should heal faster. Compared to me, he is much worse off.”

Thorin looked prepared to send her a retort, but Sveilrun interrupted by saying with a hint of venom on her tone, “Bard is coming up the stairs with your precious weapons, I suggest you go get your pick before the other dwarves do.”

Kili moved to leave with Thorin and Fili to get a weapon as well, but Sveilrun easily stopped him with a hand on the shoulder, and said with a scolding tone, “Not you, Kili.”

“But I’m feeling fine now!” Kili said with a exasperated tone. 

Sveilrun reached forward and flicked one of her fingers on the skin near the wound, earning a hiss of pain from the young dwarf, and gave him a skeptical smile, “I highly doubt that.”

Sveilrun began the work of changing the dressings on the wound; if it were to get infected, which was still a possibility although a low one, her work would have been for nothing. As her steady hands worked, Kili shifted uncomfortably, a frown set on his features. After a fourth and fifth time, it began to get on the skin-changer’s nerves.

“What’s wrong now?” Sveilrun asked, her eyes only flicking up briefly to his.

Kili hesitated before saying, “Don’t you think you’re being a bit harsh?”

“I’m doing this as carefully as possible,” Sveilrun defended, her eyebrows creasing together in mild frustration, “It’s an arrow wound not a bee sting, did you think it would feel pleasant?”

“No, no, no,” Kili quickly tried to correct himself, “No, you’re doing great- hurts a lot less with you then with Oin- oh, but don’t tell him I said that. I meant with Thorin.”

Sveilrun paused, the scrap of cloth she was tying over the wound frozen in her hands, before asking in a tone that suggested to tread lightly, “What about Thorin?”

“It just seems like you’re being a bit . . . harsh, on him,” Kili said, wincing at his wording of the statement, but continued despite that, “You seemed like you were starting to get along, I mean, even just a bit?”

“I suppose we were, just a bit,” Sveilrun admitted, albeit grudgingly, and leaned back in her chair once she was finished cleaning the wound, “I’m not a kind person by nature, Kili, that’s something you, Thorin, and the rest of the company should be familiar with.”

Kili’s brows scrunched together, “I think you’re a kind person.”

“You’re also suffering from an arrow wound, and yet wanted to argue with me on getting to pick out a big, pointy, and probably useless, weapon to carry around,” the woman retorted.

“You’ve been helping us all the way here,” Kili pointed out, “I would consider that kind.”

“Because I’m going to be paid,” Sveilrun responded, “Kindness is easily bought.”

“Well what about when you killed that deer so we wouldn’t run out of food?” Kili asks after taking a moment to think.

“If the company starves, I starve. That deer was partially for me.”

“Fair enough,” Kili muttered before saying in a triumphant tone, “But you also told Ori that he had nice drawings. That was kind, and there was nothing you could have gained for yourself.”

Sveilrun’s gaze narrowed on the young dwarf prince, but eventually she gave up on the argument and slumped back in the chair, letting her eyes droop into a tired frown, and muttered, “Cheeky brat.”

“Don’t act like you don’t love us,” Kili grinned, but let his head rest back as well, still feeling just as lethargic as Sveilrun. 

Sveilrun hummed compliantly, but muttered, “Like hatred, love is a complex emotion I extend to very few. Consider yourself exceedingly unlucky if you make either list.”

Kili rolled his eyes, well, as well as he could since they were only half open with exhaustion, “You care.”

Sveilrun felt the weights clinging to her eyes become even heavier as she faintly murmured in reply, “I suppose.”

If Kili replied, she didn’t catch it. The aggressive pull of slumber quickly became too much to resist any longer, and before she could comprehend or stop what was happening, she fell into a deep sleep and wouldn’t awaken for many hours. Kili was surprised when Sveilrun’s eyes shut completely and the deep breaths of sleep overtook her. Strands of dark brown hair hung in front of her face, which rested more peacefully than Kili had ever seen before, and left her looking younger than even himself. Even her hands, which she usually held with a slight clench were resting open and relaxed in her lap. Now that the skin-changer slept without the usual airs of intimidation that she normally clung to like a safety net, she looked fragile in the dwarf prince’s eyes. The bones in her wrists and the joints along her fingers seemed more prominent than usual, giving them a thin delicate appearance, and the scars that covered both wrists seemed even lighter against her skin like beacons of the suffering she had faced at some point. 

Kili already felt rather fond of the skin-changer and knew that she felt the same way for him and the company, even if she rarely showed it, so the sight of Sveilrun’s rundown appearance sent a twist of guilt in his chest. She wouldn’t be so exhausted if he hadn’t been injured. Deciding that the woman needed the rest more than himself, and would most likely prefer to sleep in solitude, he stood with shaky legs from the bed, placed a blanket around Sveilrun’s shoulders, and left the room to find the others.

~~

Bard stood around his kitchen table, the weapons he had to offer splayed on the table, and a group of dwarves showing their displeasure at what he had to show. He knew they wouldn’t be happy with the weapons, but there was no way for him to access any proper swords or axes, so what was he to do?

“We paid you for weapons!” A dwarf with red hair stated angrily, “Iron-forged swords and axes!”

“It’s a joke!” Another exclaimed and threw the weapon in his hands back onto the table, urging the other dwarves to follow suit and toss their weapons down in frustration.

“You won’t find better outside the city armory,” Bard tried to explain, “All iron-forged weapons are held there under lock and key.”

The dwarves all shared dark looks with one another. One of the dwarves, an elder one with white hair, said to the leader, “Thorin, why not take what’s been offered and go? I’ve made do with less; so have you. I say we leave now.”

The name of the leader startled the bargeman, he had heard that name before, but he couldn’t quite remember where. All he knew was that it set a feeling of unease in his gut.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Bard declared, which in turn made all of the dwarves immediately turn on him.

“What did you say!?” A bald dwarf covered in tattoos demanded.

“There’s spies watching this house and probably every dock and wharf in the town,” Bard explained, which quickly made the dwarves calm down in understanding, “You must wait till nightfall.”

The dwarves grumble beneath their breaths in obvious distaste, but make no more outward remarks of disapproval. Needing a moment to himself, Bard exits his home to stand out on the front steps. The name ‘Thorin’ seems so familiar and the bargeman can feel the answer on the tip of his tongue. Muttering the name to himself a few times, trying his best to recall where he heard the name, it suddenly clicks. Hearing the creak of the door opening and the silent call of his son, he rushes over to Bain and commands in a hushed tone, “Don’t let them leave.”

Hurrying down the steps and onto the docks that make up Laketown, Bard runs through the town in search of something. A shop. He reaches his destination quickly and runs up into the front of the shop.

“Hello, Bard,” the storekeeper greets politely, “What’re you after?”

Bard quickly moves to a table covered in worn clothes and tapestries and begins rifling through them, “There was a tapestry, an old one; where’s it gone?”

“What tapestry you talking about?” the storekeeper asked.

“This one,” Bard answers and lifts a long roll of musty cloth from a pile, quickly placing on one of the tables under the light of an oil lamp. Unrolling it he finds a long family tree of the Line of Durin sewn into the fabric, the name ‘Thorin’ displayed as clear as day.

Not far away he overhears the voice of a townswoman, “There were dwarves, I tell you. Appeared out of nowhere. Full beards, fierce eyes; I’ve never seen the like.”

Another voice of a man asked, “What are dwarves doing in these parts?”

“It’s the prophecy,” A third voice answers surely. 

“Prophecy?” the man asked.

“The prophecy of Durin’s folk,” the third voice answers again.

Bard looks over the tapestry a second, third, and fourth time, hoping his eyes are deceiving him, but find the same names there for him to read.

“The old tales will come true,” he overheard a man say.

“Vast halls of treasure!” a woman proclaimed.

“Can it really be true?” a different woman asked excitedly, “Has the lord of silver fountains returned?”

The phrase the woman says jolts Bard’s memory, the words of an old prophecy that was known to everyone in the town, and he recites to himself;

“The King beneath the mountains,  
The King of carven stone,  
The lord of silver fountains  
Shall come into his own!

His crown shall be upholden,  
His harp shall be restrung,  
With one of heart so golden  
The songs of yore re-sung

The woods shall wave on mountains  
And grass beneath the sun;  
His wealth shall flow in fountains  
The wolf of old will run.

The streams shall run in gladness,  
The lakes shall shine and burn,  
All sorrow fail and sadness  
At the Mountain-king's return!”

 

Bard recites the prophecy to himself over and over again until his breath catches on a single line. “The wolf of old will run.” A wolf? The memory of a woman’s vivid yellow eyes glaring daggers at him, snap him back to reality. Dropping the tapestry, Bard takes off down the docks, already knowing every path by heart until he reaches his next destination. Set near the Master’s home was a small wooden statue that had grown dark and chipped with years of wear, but the subject of the statue was still clear to see. A large wooden wolf sat with its head raised high in pride. Attached to the statue was a wooden plaque with writing carved in that the bargeman had read and reread since he was a child;

“In honour of the wolf who saved our children, mothers, and fathers in the burning of Dale,  
It never troubles the wolf how many the sheep may be.”

Something that always caught Bard’s eye when he passed the statue as a child, and the craftsman was fortunate enough not to forget, was the patches of scars among the wolf’s front paws. He had always thought it was supposed to represent the burns suffered in the burning of Dale, but now he was not so sure. His memories flickered back to the woman once again, more specifically the scars that covered her wrists. He had noticed them on the barge, but was polite enough not to ask or stare. The words she had growled at him earlier came to mind, “I have been alive longer than this miserable town has existed, and if it weren’t for me half the population wouldn’t be alive to see it.” But there was no possible way the short woman could be the great wolf, was there?

The last question that came to mind was something he had asked earlier that still went unanswered, “what’s a skin-changer?”

~~~

Kili knew Sveilrun wouldn't be happy when she woke up. Actually he was quite certain she would be furious. Considering how protective she had gotten when the dwarf prince had merely wanted to get out of the bed, she wouldn’t be pleased to discover that he had left Bard’s home entirely. Even worse, left the house to break into the city armoury. With the rest of the company. Which meant she was left alone sleeping in the bargeman’s house. The skin-changer wouldn’t be pleased in the least. Although in Kili’s defence, when he went to awaken the woman all he could think of was the wolf warning him not to awaken her unless someone were dying, or there was food prepared, and technically neither of those had happened. Besides, once they got what they wanted, the company would return to retrieve her, and she might not ever need to awake with them gone. Although she would still be cross with them. 

The rest of the company, although reluctant, decided it best to leave Sveilrun, as she might try and stop them. Plus the woman could be downright terrifying in the morning, as many of them had the pleasure of witnessing, and none felt inclined to disturb her slumber. 

The dwarves made quick work breaking into the armoury. They piled up atop one another and climbed through a window. It wasn't easy for Kili with an injured leg hindering his movements, but he managed to get in with a few other dwarves. Thorin began to pile swords, axes, and maces in his younger nephew's arms. Kili's arms strained to support the weight of the weapons, and his leg burned and ached terrible, making him question why he thought it a good idea to join them. 

Piling another weapon into Kili’s grasp, and noticing the sickly appearance of the young dwarf, Thorin asks, “You all right?”

“I can manage,” Kili replied, but doubt circled around him, making him unsure, “Let’s just get out of here, before Sveilrun notices we’re gone.”

Thorin’s expression blanched for a moment before he nodded and gave Kili yet another sword. Kili felt both his arms and legs burn with the effort of staying upright, his exhaustion still evident. Wanting to put down the weapons as soon as possible, he makes his was towards the stairs, but a sudden painful twinge in his leg makes him buckle, and before he can catch himself he tumbles down the stairs. The weapons all fall from his grasp and clang together terribly, making all of the dwarves freeze. A cry from the nearby guardsmen is quickly followed by the thumping of their footsteps, and before Kili can right himself a guard is keeping him down with a dagger rested on his throat. Kili faintly catches Thorin’s gaze, the guilt on the young dwarf’s face quite apparent, but his main thought was;

‘Sveilrun is going to be furious.’ 

None of the dwarves managed to escape the town guards grasp, and they were forced along the docks until the reached a house that looked much more luxurious than all the others, the Master’s mansion. Naturally the dwarves fought against the guardsmen, demanding to be released, but the guards had weapons and numbers while the dwarves did not. Townsfolk exited their homes as the group passed, alarmed by the noise and curious to what was going on. As the large crowd reached the mansion, a greasy, black haired man poked his head out the door before quickly going back inside to fetch his master. 

“Get off of me!” Dwalin growled as the dwarves were pushed into a ring of the townsfolk.

It only took a second for the black haired man to rouse his master, and a large, and quite unattractive, man stormed out of the mansion, still putting on his jacket, “What is the meaning of this?”

“We caught ‘em stealing weapons, sire,” One of the guardsmen answered.

“Ah. Enemies of the state, then,” the Master drawled.

“This is a bunch of mercenaries if ever there was, sire,” the nasty little black haired man sneered. 

A deafening roar of a howl brought a disturbed silence among the crowd. Up atop one of the many rooftops was a giant black shadow, that would have gone unnoticed if not for the gleaming yellow eyes that shined against the townspeople's torchlight. The crowd instantly backed away from the building with the creature on it, gasps and shrieks of surprise sounding, wanting to put distance between themselves and the beast. The moment they backed away the creature leapt down, landing with a loud ‘thump’, and slowly stalked forward with a growl rolling through its chest. The crowd was in a shocked silence, as if all the air had been sucked from their lungs. A ginormous, dark brown wolf is what emerged from the shadows. The townspeople, and most of the guards, put as much distance between themselves and the great beast. But two of the more courageous, or highly ignorant, guards pointed the tips of their long spears at the wolf. The wolf’s lips pulled back to flash long white teeth, and a deep growl rolled through its throat, stopping in its tracks. When one of the guards were foolish enough to try and jab at the wolf with his spear, the wolf easily snatched the spear between its jaws, snapping the wooden handle into splinters. Any courage the guards may have had quickly fled them, and like the rest of the crowd they retreated from the wolf’s reach. The snarl remained on the wolf’s face, its head lowered so its bared fangs would be at eye level of all it passed, as it stalked towards the dwarves. It was only the dwarves that noticed the wolf carried a slight limp in its back leg, and its head was not held low in intimidation but because it was so tired. For a moment the crowd thought the wolf was going to slaughter everyone there, but the moment the wolf had entered the ring of dwarves it turned to the Master of Laketown. 

Facing the black haired man who stood next to the Master, who started pale-faced at the beast and sputtered commands at the guards, the wolf’s yellow eyes narrowed before it demanded in a deep, thundering voice that unnerved all who heard it and brought complete silence to crowd, “Hold your tongue!” 

Kili’s suspicions were correct, Sveilrun wasn’t pleased in the least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	14. Hold Your Tongue

It was the loud bang of a door being thrown open that awoke Sveilrun from her deep slumber. Her eyes snapped open and her heart began to thunder against her chest from the sudden surprise. Three things immediately caught her attention; one, Kili was gone from the bed, two, the room was filled with darkness, and three, she wasn’t feeling so tired anymore. Not hearing the usual clamoring of the dwarves, a sudden concern grew in her chest. Standing from her chair, she practically sprinted to where the bang came from to find Bain and Bard, and as she had feared, the dwarves were nowhere in sight. 

“Da! I tried to stop them-” Bain was trying to explain to his father.

“How long have they been gone!?” Sveilrun snarled before Bard could get a word in. 

The young lad seemed surprised by the woman’s sudden appearance, and stuttered, “I-I’m not sure, maybe half an hour?”

Growling in frustration, Sveilrun pushed past Bard and out of the house. She quickly rushed down the steps, but paused at the bottom to let her ears wander for any sound that may give away where the dwarves are. It was rather easy as the dwarves aren’t skilled in the arts of stealth. Within moments she picked up on the loud clattering of metal against metal followed by a shout from one of the town’s guardsmen. Deciding on a path to take, she began rushing down the dock, the cold evening air prickling her skin. Sveilrun can hear the struggle of the dwarves against the guardsmen, and a protective rage began to boil in her stomach. But not just a protective anger, an anger towards the dwarves as well that made her see red. Before she could properly contemplate her decision, she shifted mid-stride. The giant form of the wolf came easily to her, fueled by her strong emotions, and she shifted almost instantly, her dress falling to shreds without a scrap left that could be worn. The long strides of the wolf carried her faster, but the gasps of surprise and shrieks of fear from the townsfolk proved to be distracting. Deciding on a faster route, the wolf leapt up onto the top of one of the buildings, shingles giving way under foot as she began to bound from building to building. The wolf’s gleaming eyes landed on the crowd that was corralling the dwarves towards the largest house in the town. She could already feel the lethargy in her bones begin to return, and an ache settled in her legs. 

A deep and thunderous rage filled her chest and helped fuel her movements; how dare the dwarves leave her behind. If it were not for the insufferable bond to the dwarf king pulling her to defend them, and the fact that she cared for the two dwarf princes, she would be half tempted to leave them to deal with whatever consequences they faced.

Slowing, Sveilrun takes the advantage of evening darkness and stalks among the shadows where she can’t be seen. The more animalistic part of her that she had been forced to hold back the last few days was rearing at the forefront of her mind, clawing to be let loose, and made the words the townspeople spoke difficult to decipher. It was when the man she recognized as Alfrid, the man who had disrespected her and Bard at the gate to enter Laketown, said with greasy sneer, “This is a bunch of mercenaries if there was, sire.”

That was the moment Sveilrun lost control. A roaring howl released from the wolf’s chest, bringing a shocked silence to the people of Laketown which was quickly followed by gasps of fear as the wolf was spotted. She watched as the people backed away as best they could, practically tasting their fear in the air, and had to reprimand her baser instincts that wanted to hunt. Luckily her sights were set on the greasy, black-haired rat; he had disrespected her, and now he was doing the same to her dwarves. More specifically Thorin, who held a title far above Alfrid’s.

Leaping down from the roof and landing with a loud ‘thump’, feeling quite grateful that her aching limbs didn’t buckle underneath her, she began to slowly stalk forward with her head held low. The entire crowd parted for her, encouraged to move further away by her flashing teeth and low growls. Two guards that thought themselves valiant rushed forward with spears in hand, trying to push the wolf back against the building with threat of being stabbed by a spear, and failing. The wolf’s ears were pressed back and its lips were pulled back in a furious snarl, and when one of the guards took a jab forward with his spear, the wolf easily snatched the weapon between its jaws and snapped it into splintered bits. Sveilrun dropped what remained of the spear before growling and snarling loudly at those who opposed her, breaking their courage to cowardice within moments. No one was foolish enough to take another swipe at the great wolf, and she easily stalked through the parted crowd, but kept her steady yellow eyes fixed on everyone she passed. When she came to approach the dwarves her anger flared once again, especially when she sensed the fear radiating off some of them, but calmed slightly when her eyes met Thorin’s. Remembering her original anger, she stalked yet further forward to face the Master of Laketown and his sniveling servant. 

Both the Master and his servant were paled faced, looking just a moments away from bolting, and stuttered out various commands to both the guards and the townspeople to ‘kill the beast’. Sveilrun’s anger flowed freely as the wolf raised its head high and yelled with a thunderous tone, “Hold your tongue!”

A silence fell over the crowd, and was only broken by the Master stuttering meekly, “I-It can talk!”

“Of course I can talk,” Sveilrun snarled, pacing back and forth furiously before the steps of the mansion, “You do not know to whom you speak so disgracefully! I am far older than any within this town and have saved more of your ancestor’s lives than even you can count. If I had known you’d all turn to such a wretched state I would have left them to burn.”

Circling behind the dwarves where she could stand behind Thorin, Sveilrun continued in a tone made up of deep growls, “You are a fool to assume these dwarves to be common criminals! These dwarves belong to the line of Durin, this is Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror! Try holding your idiocy for once and show some respect!”

The extreme exhaustion of pushing herself too hard too soon was beginning to show. Sveilrun’s limbs began to tremble with the sheer effort of just having to stand, and looking down at the dwarf king before her, she knew that he and the rest of the dwarves had noticed. The aching in her back leg eventually became too much, and the wolf sat down to rest it, but kept her head raised high in pride. Briefly nodding his thanks to Sveilrun, Thorin stepped forward and announced proudly, “We are the dwarves of Erebor.”

At this the crowd gathered around them all began to whisper and crane their heads up to try and get a closer look at the dwarves; the dwarves of Erebor and their story were well known in Laketown.

“We have come to reclaim our homeland,” Thorin explained, “I remember this town and the great days of old. Fleets of boats lay at harbor, filled with silks and fine gems. This was no forsaken town on a lake! This was the centre of all trade in the North.”

Thorin spoke with a sense of pride and earnesty that appealed to the townspeople, and the crowd was filled with nods and murmurs of agreement. 

“I would see those days return,” Thorin continued with a tone that was clearly built from years of leadership, “I would relight the great forges and the dwarves and send wealth and riches flowing once more from the halls of Erebor!” 

The crowd only grew more and more excited, and cheered and clapped in agreement. The Master and his servant, however, looked untrusting and speculative, not quick to join his people. But the joy and enthusiasm of the townspeople was quickly squandered when a single man strode through the crowd and shouted out over the cheers, “Death! That is what you will bring upon us. Dragon-fire and ruin. If you awaken that beast, it will destroy us all.”

The crowd fell into a hushed silence as Bard broke through the crowd to stand before the dwarves and the Master. Thorin scowled and retaliated with, “You can listen to this naysayer, but I promise you this; if we succeed, all will share in the wealth of the mountain. You will have enough gold to rebuild Esgaroth ten times over!”

The crowd once again became excited near instantly, clapping and cheering to express their delight, but once again they were interrupted.

“Why should we take you at your word, eh?” Alfrid claimed, obviously not trusting the dwarves or the wolf, “We don’t know nothing about you, or your big beast. Who here can vouch for your character?” 

It was Bilbo who raised his hand. Stepping forward, the halfling said, “Me. I’ll vouch for him. Now, I have travelled far with these dwarves through great danger, and if Thorin Oakenshield gives his word, then he will keep it.”

Once again, the crowd cheered and called out their approval, and once again they were interrupted by Bard, “All of you! Listen to me! You must listen! Have you forgotten what happened to Dale!?”

Silence fell around them, and a form of guilt appeared on many of the townspeople’s faces, “Have you forgotten those who died in the firestorm!?”

A scattering of people shouted out a series of ‘no’s in reply. 

“And for what purpose?” Bard continued, “The blind ambition of a mountain-king too riven by greed, he could not see beyond his own desire!”

Upon hearing their king being insulted, some of the dwarves moved forward as if to attack the bargeman, but were held back by the more sensible of the lot. Thorin and Bard glared heavily at each other as the crowd's shouts of either approval or disagreement grew louder. It was the Master of Laketown that silenced the crowd next.

“Now, now, we must not, any of us, be too quick to lay blame,” even the voice of the Master made Sveilrun’s skin crawl with disgust, she had never met a man who appeared so gluttonous as him. Pointing a meaty finger towards Bard, the Master continued louder than before, “Let us not forget that it was Girion, Lord of Dale, your ancestor, who failed to kill the beast!”

This proclaim brought another wave of clamor among the townspeople. Bard looked away in shame, and Thorin looked at him in a mixture of shock and anger, but Sveilrun was distracted by the name Girion. She had heard the name earlier but it hadn’t registered in her memory at that point. Even now she couldn’t remember all that she knew of the name, but decided to ponder on it later when she had a moment. 

“It’s true, sire,” Alfrid spoke again, making the wolf’s ears twitch back from the irritation his voice brought her, “We all know the story: arrow after arrow he shot, each one missing its mark.”

The crowd instantly turned on the grim bargeman, yelling insults and other words of anger. Bard looked around at the townspeople, a hint of betrayal showing in his eyes, before striding forward to speak to Thorin. “You have no right, no right to enter that mountain!” Bard spoke with a tone full of earnesty. 

“I have the only right,” Thorin hissed back before turning to face the master, “I speak to the Master of the men of the Lake. Will you see the prophecy fulfilled? Will you share in the great wealth of our people?” 

A silence fell over the town in anticipation, and Thorin asked, “What say you?”

The Master takes a moment to think before a long, disturbing grin spread across his face and he pointed a meaty finger at the dwarf king, replying, “I say unto you . . . welcome! Welcome and thrice welcome, King under the Mountain!”

The crowd erupted in loud hollers and cheers for the dwarves. Thorin walked forward onto the front steps of the Master’s manor, facing the people of laketown to watch as they spoke with tones of joy and hugged each other in excitement. Sveilrun watched the people they would now have to consider allies in their quest become overcome by their happiness, but the feeling did not pass on to her, for she was still filled with a deep anger and sense of betrayal. The dwarves had left her while she slept and were idiotic enough to get caught - she would not forgive them easily.

~~~

The company was shown to a home owned by the Master for them to say in while residing in Laketown with enough beds for them all. The company remained still and silent upon entering the home, a sense of guilt overcoming some of them for what they had done to Sveilrun. At the time of leaving it had seemed a good idea to leave the woman to rest and return to her after, but now they regretted that decision. As the guards who showed them to the house left, and the giant wolf slowly stepped into the main room, they could see the cold anger that filled her golden eyes and the limp that protruded her walk. The dwarves all looked to each other for something to say, but none stepped forward. They knew that Sveilrun’s anger was difficult to match, and after witnessing the great wolf stalk among the crowd as if in a hunt, they did not want to unintentionally push her further. It was Balin who eventually stepped forward.

Clearing his throat, Balin said with a sympathetic tone, “Sveilrun, you know, we really didn’t wish to upset you- we just-”

“I’m tired,” The deep rumbling voice of the wolf interrupted the elder dwarf, but spoke with a soft clarity that left them all speechless. Without another word on the matter, the wolf stalked towards the nearest room, barely fitting through the door and having to duck down her head so as to not hit the roof. Once she had entered the room and managed to click the door shut, did the dwarves look to each other once again, not knowing how to handle the situation. 

The moment Sveilrun entered one of the many rooms in the house, she shifted back to human form and collapsed upon the bed waiting for her, pulling its blankets securely around herself. She was exhausted and upset, and the lethargy that weighed her down was heavier than a stack of bricks. But despite this exhaustion, she couldn’t find peace nor sleep, for her mind was riddled with emotions she rarely felt and barely understood. Knowing that rest would not come to her easily like it had before, she rose from the bed with shaking limbs. A large bowl of water and a wash cloth were sitting on a table in the corner of the room, and with much difficulty Sveilrun managed to clean herself a bit and wash out some of her hair. Feeling slightly cleaner than she had before, she looked to a small dresser against the wall and pulled out some clothing. All of the clothes were meant for men, and were much too large for her, but something was better than nothing and she slipped on a grey tunic and trousers along with a dark red cloak that was hung on a hook on the wall. 

Sveilrun needed to leave at that moment. The entire town seemed for too constricting to the woman, and leaving the house, which was beginning to feel just as oppressive, seemed like a good way to relieve some of the pressure. Plus she had a few things she wanted to do. Sveilrun had left the wolf’s harness in Bard’s house and wanted to retrieve it, along with that she wanted to see if the sky was clear enough for star reading. The reading she had seen the day before still bothered her, and she was hoping that she had merely misread what she saw, but this time she felt certain she was correct. The woman dearly wished she was wrong. She already knew, however, that the sky had been full of clouds earlier and that she may not get a good view. Despite that, she still felt the need to leave the house.

Not wanting to deal with the dwarves at the moment, Sveilrun leaned close to the door and listened into the main room. Finding that all of the dwarves had wandered off to find beds of their own to make up for some much needed rest, the main room sounding devoid of anything except a crackling fire in the hearth, the woman quietly clicked open the door and slipped through. As she had hoped, the main room appeared to be empty and she made her way to the door as quick as she could in her state, her bare feet padding silently on the wooden floors.

Once outside Sveilrun was glad she had grabbed the red cloak, for it had grown even cooler as the night wore on, and wrapped the material tighter around herself. She wasn't exactly sure where Bard's house laid within the town, when she had left earlier she didn't pay attention to the many turns she had to take, but she figured out a general direction and headed out. No townspeople were out at this time, all of the excitement had passed with their need for sleep, and the town sat silent beneath the cloaked sky. Sveilrun took a deep breath and thought to herself, 'At least Bard's house will be easy enough to find'.

~~~

Nearly an hour later, Sveilrun found herself beyond lost, and severely confused. She wasn't sure where she had gone wrong, but somehow she managed to not only lose the direction she thought the bargeman's house laid, but she also lost the house she was supposed to take lodgings in. Now the woman found herself confused, upset, and more exhausted than ever. 

Sighing, Sveilrun rubbed her hands over her eyes, trying to wake herself, and walked another few paces. Unfortunately the exhaustion, both mental and physical, became overwhelming. With barely a thought of it, the skin-changer slumped down on the dock walkway. The old, rotten boards of the dock seemed to bite into her skin even through her clothing, and was terribly uncomfortable, but the sense of relief that it brought overpowered any form of discomfort. Groaning again, she let her legs hang from the edge of the dock, her toes nearly touching the water, and took in her surroundings. All of the ratty, old buildings looked the same to Sveilrun. 

She had always despised such cramped, dirty man villages. They were always filled with filth, which she thankfully couldn't smell, but she could practically taste the air around them. It was stale, foul, and spoke of death. In her younger days, before her village was destroyed, she lived in a large log house far from the disturbance man villages held. Of course her village was close enough, but skin-changers spaced themselves out across the mountain, never fearing attack because of their individual strength. Looking back on it all, Sveilrun saw the arrogance of her extinct people that lead to their fall; to think that no one could or would ever defeat them in battle. Sheer strength can mean nothing if numbers are against you, she had learned that on more than one occasion, but at a time she had thought herself to be invincible. It is that same arrogance she saw in the dwarves. They knew they could die, and have faced death on numerous occasions, and yet they still pushed themselves to face a dragon that would easily kill them all. 

Memories of the past, of death and destruction only amplified by the town’s history, her exhaustion - both mental and physical - that seemed have been clinging to her for days, her fear for the dwarves mixed with a burning rage, her hatred of humans, and finally the nagging bond that tied her fate to the dwarf king; it all became too much for Sveilrun. A wet drop landed on Sveilrun’s hand, and she was surprised to find her eyes burning with tears. Not tears of physical pain, but tears brought about by emotions. 

“You’ve got to be joking,” Sveilrun sniffled silently, her head bowing down as she tried to wipe away any stray tears, growling to herself, “Pull yourself together.”

The skin-changer’s tears didn’t cease, and the floodgate of emotions she had been holding back seemed to crack and bend in protest. She felt her stomach clench as she tried and failed to smother her tears, causing a slight hiccup to leave her lips and only make everything worse. Sveilrun scrubbed furiously at her eyes, hoping to erase any tears before they could even fall, but it didn’t help anything. 

“Are you… crying?” a hesitant yet deep voice asked, shocking Sveilrun. She must truly be beyond tired if she didn’t even hear him approaching, her sudden sense of smell should have been a rather obvious indicator. 

“What could you possibly want now?” Sveilrun mumbled, not looking over at Thorin and keeping her gaze on the murky lake water.

“I just thought you could use the company,” He replied, stepping closer to her and slowly sitting on the edge of the dock next to her.

“How do you always find me when I’m miserable?” Sveilrun laughed half-heartedly, the end catching with the slightest sob.

“Maybe because it’s the only time you’re alone,” Thorin replied with the hint of a joking tone, “Why are you crying?”

“I don’t know!” Sveilrun snapped, sniffing at the end, “Ignore it and it will go away.”

“I don’t think it works that way,” Thorin muttered.

“Well what would you suggest because I don’t know how to make it stop,” Sveilrun growled, wiping at her eyes again, “It’s making my eyes burn.”

The two of them sat in uncomfortable silence for the moment, the only sound coming from Sveilrun’s occasional sniffle. Thorin was the next to speak, in a low hesitant voice, “I’m sorry.”

“What?” Sveilrun asked with obvious disbelief that someone as stubborn as Thorin would apologize with no prompting.

“I said I’m sorry, we shouldn’t have left you alone,” Thorin grumbled, “I apologize for making you upset.”

“Did Balin tell you to apologize?” Sveilrun asked knowingly.

“He . . . may have asked me to,” Thorin admitted, “No one else was willing to without a shield.”

The skin-changer huffed in slight amusement, wiping her tear stained cheeks again and leaning on her hand, “Wouldn’t need one, I’m too tired to fight right now.”

Thorin looked over at the skin-changer, trying to catch her eye, and upon seeing that her eyes were still red rimmed and spilling over with tears, he sighed and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. Sveilrun stiffened in surprise, but didn't pull away and muttered a frustrated, "What are you doing?"

"Helping," he replied gruffly, pulling the woman closer so their knees touched. 

Sveilrun sighed, too exhausted to argue with the stubborn dwarf king, and leaned against his shoulder. Her head sunk into the juncture of shoulder that connected to his neck, trying to hide her embarrassing expression. 

"Don't think this means anything," Sveilrun protested weakly, sniffling against his shoulder.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Thorin chuckled, Sveilrun feeling the slight vibrations of his laugh against her cheek. The arm wrapped around her shoulders lowered until his hand rested on her waist, and his other hand came to rest on the back of her neck, lightly brushing against her dark hair. Sveilrun would never admit it, but she was extremely comfortable clinging to the dwarf king's shoulder. He was warm, much warmer than her, his shirt was soft, and the scent that surrounded her was addicting. Adding in the hand that was playing with her hair lightly, she felt fantastic. Any thoughts of anger or distress disappeared. All of her grogginess and exhaustion weighed on her eyes, forcing them shut, and soon she fell into a blissful, unconscious state. 

Her final thought before falling into a slumber rang through her head, "the dwarves better have shields nearby once I wake up."

It is unfortunate for the dwarf king and skin changer that their entire ordeal with one another on the dock had been witnessed by a single, dark haired dwarf prince. It is even more unfortunate that he immediately left to inform his older brother what he had seen, and rather loudly at that, with all of the other dwarves listening. Because while some would snicker at the thought, others were not so pleased.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm not sure when I'll be able to post the next chapter as I am currently busy with work and school, but I'll try to get it done as fast as I can!

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all! This is one of my first stabs at writing, so any comments or constructive criticism would be much appreciated!
> 
> This same story has been posted on Fanfiction.net under the same username, so if you see it there this isn't a matter of plagiarism. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!


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